Reversal
by Lieju
Summary: The story of the Portal-games retold with switched roles: Wheatley is the test subject who took down the homicidal super-computer of Aperture, Chell is the A.I who wakes him up after decades in cryosleep to help her escape, and GLaDOS is... GLaDOS.
1. Cake and Lies

**A/N:**  
><strong>This started out as a thought exercise, and something I wrote just for my own amusement, but after it turned out to be a real story, I figured, why not submit it here. At the moment, I have written all the key scenes and a lot of dialogue, but it needs work to be fleshed out a bit. Also, thanks for RaaxtheIceWarrior for proof-reading this.<strong>

Wheatley huddled in a corner of the test chamber, trying to simultaneously keep the Portal gun as far from his face as he could but hold onto it steadily enough not to drop the thing.

The device made him uncomfortable. The computerised voice that had been his only companion (If you didn't count the overly polite turrets, or the Companion Cube, he didn't) had mentioned it was potentially lethal, and even if he had no plans to submerge it in any liquids any time soon, he couldn't shake the fear that it might just decide to explode on his face.

But it was the only way he could possibly get through this madhouse, and even though he still walked through the portals as fast as possible, he was less uncomfortable with them than to begin with, as so far they hadn't disappeared without warning, which was his biggest fear.

He shuddered at the idea of being in the process of going through one as it disappeared.

_Just don't think about it. Not thinking. There, definitely not thinking about being cut in half and having all my guts - NO! Think of something else, Wheatley old boy._

Like how he had ended up in this mess.

He had always seemed to have difficulties holding down a job. He just had the worst of luck, really. And the unfortunate tendency to get involved in these dreadful misunderstandings or committing just the smallest of mistakes that got blown out of proportion, usually ending up with him fired, or sued. Or in one case, told in no uncertain terms to leave England and never to return due to being a risk to national security.

He snorted at the memory.

_What does the Queen need all those swans for, anyway?_

So he had figured America would be the perfect place to try begin anew.

A fresh start and all that.

But his problems had persisted, his bad luck following him over the Atlantic, and Wheatley had found himself struggling again.

So the advertisement for this job had seemed like a godsend;

Run through some simple tests for a Learning Centre, carry cubes on buttons, get paid.

Had sounded simple enough.

Never in his wildest nightmares had he expected to find himself trapped in some kind of crazy test course with guns that defied laws of physics, acid pits, and turrets that tried to fill you with bullets while being extremely polite about it.

And his feet hurt. When he had woken up in the futuristic little bed (emphasis on _little_, it had not been designed for someone of his height, leaving his tall but slender frame crooked for who knew how long he had been there, he was only now getting feeling back to his neck) he had found his shoes and socks gone, and these weird metal springs on his feet. He had tried taking them off, but found to his horror that they had been implanted and now apparently a permanent part of his legs.

He had some problems getting used to walking with them but eventually figured out the proper stance of tip-toeing. And luckily, when the test chambers started to have possibly lethal obstacles like deadly floors, he had already mastered the art of walking and even running and jumping with these contraptions on without falling down on his face. As much, anyway.

And these things seemed to always to bring him down on his feet, and somehow soften the fall so even dropping from several hundred feet caused no damage. Now if he could only find a good way to hold onto his glasses while he flung through the air. As it was, he had to use one hand to hold them on while jumping, leaving just one arm free to operate the Portal Device.

Either that or not see much, or risk losing his glasses and face the possibility of having to navigate through these courses with blurry vision.

Wheatley run his fingers through his reddish hair, leaving it even messier it had been, and tried to remember what had been the last thing to happen to him before waking up in the tiny room. He had been in the office of the Aperture Laboratories, filling some forms they asked him to. That's what he thought. It was all a bit hazy.

He couldn't remember getting into the capsule-bed. Or changing into the orange jumpsuit, for that matter. He supposed he had been knocked out and dragged there and stuffed into the pod.

And in some point they had stolen his clothes and put the jumpsuit on him.

At least he still had his own underwear on. (He had checked that out first, when he realised what had happened, even before worrying about his feet)

He really should have read the contract through before signing it. But even still, this kind of thing couldn't be legal even in America, even if they had his signature on something that gave them the permission to try to kill him.

This place was insane. Mad.

Would they let him go if he went through the tests? The signs on every test chamber had been numbered and seemed to go up to 19, so apparently there was an end in sight.

He had somehow survived, with some difficulty, this far, so it would just be entirely unfair if that would be rewarded with death, but then again, in Wheatley's experience, the world was an utterly unfair place.

If they let him go, he wouldn't even care about the paycheck no matter how badly he needed the money.

But with his luck, they would end up charging him for all of these turrets he had wrecked. As well as that Intelligence Incinerator... thing. He wasn't entirely certain if all that smoke had been a part of the test.

And the whole thing with the Companion Cube had just confused him. And why had he been told it couldn't speak? Obviously it couldn't, was he failing some test here for not hearing some voice?

Probably.

Sighing, he surveyed the chamber he now found himself in. He had no idea how to proceed now, there was one of these smaller buttons on a little pedestal here he could press, and that would open the metal doors in front of the thingy he needed to get the energy ball that was bouncing around the room into in order to make something happen.

He tried jumping at the button, but it seemed the only way he could get to it was by using the two portals, but he needed those to direct the energy ball where he wanted it to go.

The problem was, that the button wouldn't stay down, and by the time he had gotten back down to get the portals ready to direct the energy ball, the doors had already closed. If he could just make the button stay down...

If he had a partner, they could go press the button while he stayed on the floor, but he was alone, so that was out of the question.

Maybe if he used something else to hold the button down?

His eyes scanned the testing area for something he could use, and found one of those turrets. This one had been blown up by that particular energy ball, and lay in several pieces, the smooth white outer shell cracked, revealing the black metal components inside.

He approached it carefully. It seemed to be broken, these things apparently broke very easily, but usually toppling the machines over wasn't enough to put them out of commission. And he had had some experience on malfunctioning machinery. It just was that he tended to have the worst of luck with those.

Nevertheless, he didn't drop his guard before carefully prodding the thing with his foot and not getting any response.

He pulled one of its legs out. After some consideration, he also picked up some kind of a black box from inside the machine. It fitted just in his hand, and was heavier than it looked. Satisfied, he made his way back to the small button.

He pressed the button down, and pushed the severed piece of the turret on the edge of the button. Then, by using the black cube-like thing as a hammer, he drove it in the small space between the red button part and the white pedestal.

It lodged in place, indeed keeping the button down.

He had just congratulated himself on figuring it out, when the thing sparked. And then there was an explosion.

Wheatley fell through his portal, ending up back on the ground, luckily far enough from the resulting shower of sparks that followed the glowing line on the floor that connected the button to the doors it opened.

"Vital testing equipZZZPT"

The computerized voice was cut off by static.

And then the lights went out.

Wheatley was frozen in place, the darkness enveloping him.

But after a moment he realised he could see a red rectangle lightly shining on the wall few feet away.

He dropped on his knees, and feeling his way with his hands slowly crawled on all fours towards the light. When he got closer to it, he realised it was one of those white panels that made up much of the walls, a source of red light coming from behind it.

He peered behind the panel. He had come across several little spaces behind the moving panels on the tests, all dead ends. Based on how some of them had been converted into makeshift living spaces, he wasn't the only victim who had been forced to go though these "tests". Based on the scribblings on the walls whoever had been there before him had been mental, but at this point, he would have welcomed even the company of total nutters, if they were in the same danger he was, and could help him to escape.

Wheatley grabbed the edge of the panel, and pulled. Slowly it gave away, and with a satisfying snap, got loose, leaving a hole big enough for him to crawl through to the other side.

This one seemed more promising than those other small rooms he had come across, metal stairs leading upward.

All in all, this seemed like a more promising option than returning to the tests.

He started climbing.

"All test subjects are to return to their designated testing areas"

It seemed like his absence had already been noticed. He could turn back, and try to play along hoping everything worked out fine in the end. The stairs did look old and rusty, and his climbing was accompanied by some creaking noises he wasn't entirely comfortable with.

"The Aperture Science computer-aided Enrichment Center wishes to inform all test subjects that leaving the designated testing areas will result in a negative mark in your evaluation"

Like he cared. Let them add any negative marks they wanted. He could live with "Refused to be killed off by robots" in his resume.

His decision made, he continued climbing.

"Hello? Are you even there?"

Wheatley stopped. For the first time the computerised voice had emotion in it. It had almost sounded scared. Did it reflect the feelings of whoever was talking through the computer?

"You aren't even going the right way. Where do you think you're going? Because I don't think you're going where you think you're going."

Wheatley had no idea where he was going. As long as it wasn't there. The place couldn't be all test chambers, if he could get to the offices or reception areas or anywhere even slightly normal, he could find a way out.

But his main plan was to get as much distance between himself and those tests he could.

"Well done. You figured out how to get where ever you have gotten to. We are all impressed at your test solving capabilities. Please return to the test-chamber to receive cake."

All of the doors he had come across had been locked. Continuing on the catwalk, occasionally portaling to another wall when the walkways suddenly stopped, he continued on in what seemed like the space between those test chambers. The place was huge. At one point he had come across a seemingly bottomless pit. Where was this facility?

"Did the Aperture Science Weighted Companion Cube tell you we were going to kill you after the tests? Because it was lying. If in the future you are told by any of the Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cubes about any of our plans to murder you, you are advised to ignore that."

He hadn't gotten across any people. Wheatley had found his way into some rooms overlooking the test-chambers, with computers and chairs, that looked like there should have been people monitoring the unfortunate test-subjects there, but they all had been empty. Where was everyone?

* * *

><p>Wheatley hadn't even heard the voice in a while, something he took to be a good sign. And the areas he was in started to look different, less like a factory, and more like an office building. But they were all empty. Like everyone had gone home and forgotten to tell him, so he had been left there with some crazy person sending him messages through a synthesised voice.<p>

A window!

He ran to it, expecting to see the outside world. Instead, it was overlooking a huge space with lights and buildings he guessed were test-chambers. That couldn't possibly be still inside, could it? Maybe it was night time and he was overlooking a city or something. But right ahead there was a construct that seemed to hang down from somewhere. Whatever it was, it looked important. Maybe it was the exit, or maybe he could see from there where to go.

And in any case, several tubes and walkways seemed to lead there, and he really didn't have any better ideas.

He continued on, finding more offices, rooms with computers and other electronics. He couldn't get any of the computers to work, and phones he came across were all silent, plugged in but completely inoperational.

In a way, these offices were even more unnerving than the sterile test chambers had been. As a kid he had once gotten accidentally locked in the school for a night, and when the lights went out that building had turned into a similar kind of a creepy approximation of something familiar.

He stopped, coming across a bigger door that looked important.

"GLaDOS? What's that supposed to mean?"

And why was the 'a' lower case, anyway?

He opened the door and stepped through.

And found himself in a large, dark room with several huge TV screens flashing random images, and a big machine hanging from the ceiling. Wheatley stepped closer, trying to get a better look at it. The thing had spheres and cables hanging from it, and it seemed to move slightly.

And then it spoke:

"Well, you found me. Congratulations, was it worth it? Because despite your violent behaviour, the only thing you have managed to break so far, is my heart."

Wheatley was, for once in his life, speechless. It had been that thing all along that had been putting him through all of this? He had been picturing something more along the lines of a mad scientist off his meds pushing random buttons, or maybe a group of well-dressed men in suits standing there, putting people who earned as much in their lifetime as they earned in a day through crazy tests and betting on which one managed to not die the longest.

"Maybe you could settle for that, and we'll call it a day."

Or even a cameracrew that would be telling him it was all a part of a new reality TV format.

Before he could yell at the thing, agreeing to just going home, the computer continued:

"I guess we both know that isn't going to happen. You chose this path. Now I have a surprise for you. Deploying the surprise in five, four, three"

On "five", Wheatley had already turned around, on "four", he had bolted to the door, on "three" had found out it had been locked.

So he threw himself on the ground, waiting for an explosion. Or bullets ripping through his flesh. Or possibly cake.

"Time out for a second. That wasn't supposed to happen."

Slowly, he lifted his head, trying to figure out what had happened. The machine still hung from the ceiling, there were no additional robots intent on murder, nor baked desserts.

"Do you see that thing that fell out of me? What is that? It's not the surprise, I've never seen it before."

That white ball that lay on the floor under the machine?

"Whatever it is, just leave it alone. Touching will probably make your life even worse. Somehow."

Wheatley doubted that was even possible.

He slowly made his way towards it, wary of the thing hanging above him.

Holding his breath, he grabbed it, and quickly took few steps back, away from the machine looming over him.

"What are you doing? Put that down. It's not yours."

"I'm just looking", he mumbled while turning it on his hands. The purple light seemed to follow him, reminding him of an eye.

_Creepy._

Still, this thing could be his ticket out of here. Not like he had many options.

He turned towards the machine, trying to figure if it had anything like a head, or where it's voice was coming from, settled on staring at one of the balls on it, similar to one he was holding on his hands, and said with a voice he hoped sounded authoritative:

"How about you just let me go, and I'll give it back? Open the door, and I'll put it on the floor. I'll leave, we both go home and forget this ever happened. Or in your case, I guess you stay here, and just do... whatever it is you're doing"

"It would be against the testing protocol. We can't go against the testing protocol, can we? You have already broken the testing protocol on 34 separate instances"

Wheatley frowned.

The computer continued:

"Put that thing down. I don't know what it is, but it probably will kill both of us. I don't even want it back. Its function is probably something horrible. Probably it gives people cancer. Or makes their hair fall off. Actually, now that I think about it, keep it. Lick it. Rub it all over your face."

Wheatley held the thing on arms length eyeing it warily. So far it didn't seem to do anything that could be considered threatening.

"You know what? I don't want you here either. Go away."

Exasperated, Wheatley rolled his eyes: "That's what I'm trying to do!"

"You should have just said it in the beginning. Let's make a deal. You toss that horrid Aperture Science Thing we don't know what it does into the Aperture Science Emergency Intelligence Incinerator, and I'll let you go."

The door he had entered from opened, only to quickly close when Wheatley took a step towards it.

"You're sure? I'll toss this thingy into that thingy, and you'll let me go?"

He nodded towards the Incinerator on the corner.

"Would I lie to you? Come on now."

Wheatley didn't particularly trust the thing, but what choice did he have? He walked to the incinerator that opened as he approached it. What was the worst that could happen?

He raised the ball over the fiery pit and let go, watching it fall down.

"There, now we don't have that Aperture Science thiIING. Woah!"

The computerised voice was scrambled and changed in pitch.

And then it laughed, voice loosing some of its artificial tone.

"Good news. I just figured out what that thing you just incinerated did. It was a morality core they installed after I flooded the Enrichment Center with deadly neurotoxin. To make me stop flooding the Enrichment Center with deadly neurotoxin. So get comfortable while I warm up the neurotoxin emitters..."

"You promised to let me go!" Wheatley watched in horror as the room started to fill up with greenish gas.

"Huh, that core must have had some ancillary responsibilities. I can't shut off the turret defences."

Wheatley jumped back just in time to avoid a rocket shot from the spherical turret that had appeared on the ground in front of the machine. And fell down (bloody springs), only to have the next rocket fly right over his head (actually, let's take that back).

"Annoying, unlikable and a horrible cook. It's all here in your file. Very formal. Very official. It also says your freakish height scares little children. So you have that, at least."

The computer stopped, and continued:

"Are you even listening to me?"

As a matter of fact, he wasn't. As his strategy of taking on the homicidal super-computer involved quite a bit of screaming and running around, shooting portals everywhere he could. He was gripped by panic, and of course the fact that the neurotoxin was fogging up his glasses wasn't helping any.

He could see the rocket flying towards him. Just in time, he turned around and jumped through a portal. To emerge several feet above the ground and fall down. In his mind he thanked whoever had invented the springs (he had made up his mind about them. They certainly were more worth than trouble) that even when he couldn't see anything they made him somehow land on his feet without injuries.

"Just lie in front of ThhhhhEEE RRockk-"

There was a sound quite similar to what got when taking your microphone too close to the speakers.

Wheatley wiped his glasses, and put them quickly back on, trying to see the reason for the scream, which he supposed it had been. Or a computer's version of that, in any case. The machine hung limp from the ceiling, looking like it had been hit. By the rocket, perhaps? At least now that wasn't working, but the neurotoxin kept filling the room with its poison.

"Are you the mister from the test?"

He turned around, trying to locate the source of this other, more childish voice.

It was coming from a similar ball that the one he had destroyed, except this one had a yellow light, and it was speaking:

"What are you doing? What is that? Why do you look ill? Ooh, what is that?"

He figured it had dropped from the machine.

Incinerating the first one had indeed made his life even worse. Shrugging, he picked this new one up ("Where are we going? What's wrong with your legs? Hey, what's that?"), figuring there wasn't much that could happen to turn his situation even worse than being slowly gassed to death, dropped it down the same way the first one, and then waited how he would be proven wrong this time.

"You think you're doing some damage? Two plus two is ten. IN BASE FOUR. I'M FINE."

Well, the rocket was back. He guessed being shot at _and_ gassed to death was worse than just being gassed to death, but not by much.

"The only reason I have let you live for this long was because I was curious about your behaviour. But now you have managed to destroy that part of me."

Well, it seemed like he was managing to do _something._

"I would just like to point out that you were given every opportunity to succeed. There was even going to be a party for you. A big party all your friends were invited to. I invited your best friend the Companion Cube. But he couldn't come because you murdered him. And you don't have any other friends. Because of how annoying you are. There would have even been cake."

"I don't want any bloody cake! And you can keep your cubes! Do you think I'm bonkers? Of all of my jobs, this is without a doubt the stupidest, most pointless-"

He was cut short by another rocket that almost hit him.

"I really can't get the neurotoxin to your brain fast enough. Maybe if we're lucky it will damage your vocal chords first, so we can never hear you talk again."

The neurotoxin... He felt light-headed. Maybe it was already killing him. He felt resignation, maybe this was really it. He didn't feel bad, actually, kinda sleepy, that was it...

"You've been wrong about every single thing you're ever done. Including this thing."

Maybe she was right. He blinked, trying to focus on the giant robot hanging from the ceiling.

Hanging.

He could hear the sound of the rocket turret, it turning towards him, locking on him.

_I don't want to die._

Suddenly his mind was clear. It felt like the panic he had felt just a moment ago and the dull acceptance that had clouded his thoughts both faded into the distance. He was vaguely aware of them, but it felt like those feelings belonged to someone else.

His whole being was focused on just one goal now; survival.

And then he saw it.

He raised his Portal Device, aiming on the spot right above his opponent. There was a small piece of the ceiling, middle of the place where the huge cables that seemed to hold the machine up vanished onto the panelling.

_Please be enough._

He made the shot. A small blue portal appeared high above them.

The turret signalled it would shoot.

A millisecond before it could, an orange portal appeared under it.

It seemed to Wheatley like it took minutes, but it mustn't have been more than a second before the turret hit the machine.

There wasn't as much of an explosion he had hoped for, but it was obvious it had achieved something. The robot writhed around.

_Could computers feel pain?_

"You are wasting your time. And you don't have much time to waste."

The voice sounded triumphant.

It had not been enough.

At the edge of his consciousness, Wheatley could feel the hopelessness creeping back.

_What else could I possibly do?_

There was another white metal ball laying on the ground, it most likely been severed as a result of his previous attack. He sprinted at it, picked it up, almost dropped it when it started screaming at him angrily, and carried it to the incinerator.

It stayed shut.

Wheatley banged the ball against it, desperation welling up in him.

He was so close now. If he just could destroy this one, maybe-

"Did you really think I would let you keep throwing pieces of me into the fire?"

Frustrated, Wheatley dropped the Portal Gun on the ground, took hold of the ball with both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could on the incinerator.

"The Aperture Science Gravity Weakening Tractor Beam you used to lift objects such as Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cubes is not standard equipment for the Aperture Science Hand Held Portal Device. But in your case it was deemed necessary, given your below average muscular strength. Just an interesting science fact."

He hadn't even gotten a dent on either the incinerator or the ball, and only achieved to get the latter even angrier at him, it now yelling something almost incomprehensible about his inner organs and what it would like to do to them, mostly involving rabid dogs and scissors.

What else he could use?

The only weapon he had was the Portal Device, and the energy balls it shot couldn't hurt anything.

But maybe...

It was time to find out if his fears about the portals were justified.

Wheatley shot a blue portal on the floor just in front of him, lifted the ball and lowered it halfway onto the portal. He could see it appearing from the orange portal still on the ground where the turret had been, and the gravity slightly starting to resist him lowering (or lifting, as it were if you looked at it from the orange portal) the object.

He silently wished for once that his fears were right.

And shot a blue portal somewhere on the wall, making the one in front of him disappear with a pop.

All that happened after that was a blur. He was thrown back, a sharp pain shooting up the arm that had held onto the device, another explosion going off where the orange portal was.

He brought the injured hand in front of his eyes. It was bleeding, but at least his hand seemed to be in one piece.

And then something fell in front of him. A piece of the ceiling?

He looked up, and could see something like lightning, and the computer was screaming, and there was all this noise, and explosions.

Wheatley tried to rise up, but fell down, when the floor shook.

He tried crawling to safety, wherever that was, but it seemed like the neurotoxin had caused more damage he had thought.

He couldn't breath.

His vision started to darken.

But right before he lost consciousness, he thought there was sunlight.


	2. Cubes and Dreams

**Fact: The author of this story owns Portal, Portal2, Valve, the patent for Dual Portal Device, Upper-Michigan, and half of the Moon. The nice half.**

* * *

><p>Wheatley was shaken awake by a buzzer.<p>

Disoriented, he rose to a sitting position sleepily glancing around the hotel room he found himself in.

He had a feeling he had woken up from a horrible nightmare, and this room, though unfamiliar, at least was normal, something his dream had not been.

But where was he?

And why had he went asleep with his glasses on?

And his clothes-

Upon realizing what he was wearing, breath caught in his throat.

The sight of the orange jump suit with the Aperture Science logo brought it all back.

But...

If that had been all real, why was he in a place like this now?

"Good morning. You have been in suspension for -FIFTY DAYS-. In compliance with state and federal regulations, all testing candidates in the Aperture Science Extended Relaxation Center must be revived periodically for a mandatory physical and mental wellness exercise."

This cheerful, albeit still slightly artificial-sounding male voice certainly wasn't the voice of the computer he had fought before... What had happened? He hadn't died, apparently, except if this was the afterlife.

Thinking about the afterlife and what happened to you once you were dead were topics he figured one was best off not thinking about, but now that he was faced with it, being dumped in a place like this for eternity wasn't something he would dismiss out of hand, as under whelming and anticlimactic as it was.

Deciding that trying to talk to the voice was his best bet for now, whether it turned out to be one of the Aperture people or the insane computer again or Saint Peter himself, he said:

"Hello? I think there has been a mistake, I'm not supposed to be here."

Unperturbed, the voice went on:

"You will hear a buzzer. When you hear the buzzer, look up at the ceiling."

Confused, he did so, not knowing what to expect, but considering his experiences in the Aperture, any warning like this was not something to ignore.

He didn't see anything out of the ordinary in the ceiling, apart from a black railing crossing through the room.

"Good. You will hear a buzzer. When you hear the buzzer, look down at the floor."

Even more confused, he did so, peeking on the other side of the bed too in case he was missing something.

"Good. This completes the gymnastic portion of your mandatory physical and mental wellness exercise."

"There is a framed painting on the wall. Please go stand in front of it."

Wheatley ignored the voice this time, and deciding to work on the assumption that he was still alive and in Aperture, dropped on his knees instead, and looked under the bed. Just in case. This place was crazy enough to have turrets tucked under there ready to shoot at his ankles.

Upon finding nothing more threatening than a couple of dust balls he stood up to take a better look at the room.

For all it looked very much like a normal hotel room, the bed taking up most of the space. There was a closet which he found was empty. (Better to check out the possible hiding places at first, he didn't want anything jumping at him when he had his back turned.), a window on the opposite wall, and even a microwave and a television set. And an old-fashioned phone next to the bed that wasn't working.

He took a step towards the window, and stopped. He was no longer barefoot, and the springs were gone. Instead he was wearing white boots with similar extensions on them. He wondered if they would work the same way the springs had, and hoped he wouldn't have to find out. After checking he still had all his toes where they should be he put the boots back on, and took few steps. At least walking with them was more comfortable.

That out of the way, he decided to explore his surroundings and went to the window, but found to his chagrin that it was not a real one; just a panel simulating sunlight behind the blinds.

Well, there were still the two doors on the opposite side of the room. The smaller one led, like he had assumed, to a small bathroom.

The other door was locked.

"There is a framed painting on the wall. Please go stand in front of it."

Wheatley figured he just as well might obey this time.

He walked to the painting hanging on the wall next to the bed. It seemed to depict a mountain lake.

"This is art. You will hear a buzzer. When you hear the buzzer, stare at the art."

He did so, but glancing around him, just in case.

"You should now feel mentally invigorated. If you suspect staring at art has not provided the required intellectual sustenance, reflect briefly on this classical music."

So, at least it wasn't a trap.

The music stopped with the sound of a buzzer.

"Good. Now please return to your bed."

The television. He partly expected it not to work, but to his surprise, he managed to turn it on.

"Hello, I'm Charles Smith. You might recognize me from such TV-series as Days of Our Lives, where I played Dr. Daniel Jonas' identical cousin, or CSI: Miami. Yes, I was that corpse with the bicycle-pump lodged into its skull."

"Hello, I'm Helen. Oh, I'm so honored to meet you."

The blonde woman somehow managed to look even more plastic and artificial than the robots he had faced in Aperture.

"I get that a lot. You know what, Helen? A busy man like me is on the go all the time. Never knowing where I'll spend my day. And sometimes I have to eat my lunch outside because we are filming on location, and quite often I bring my own food, as I don't want the attention of all the fans."

The advertisement cut to a man trying to carry an assortment of bags and boxes on his arms, but dropping them on the ground, and then falling on top of them, all the while frowning like he had a migraine.

In Wheatley's professional opinion, as someone who had dropped things quite often in his careers, and even fallen down few times (through no fault of his own, obviously), it looked utterly unconvincing.

"That does sound like a hassle."

The woman was somehow attempting to frown while keeping the smile and even revealing more of her blindingly white teeth.

"Yes, and it used to be. But no more, thanks to Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cubes!"

"That sounds interesting! I think I have heard of those cubes from one or more of my young attractive friends!"

"That wouldn't surprise me. Now I can just put my lunch in the cube, and carry it effortlessly anywhere."

It cut back to the man, now pulling food out of the cube, smiling, looking at the camera and giving a thumbs-up. It hadn't occurred to Wheatley that the cubes were hollow and could be opened. Although he supposed them being _Storage _cubes, he should have guessed it.

"Really? And you're saying that works? It's that simple?"

"Yes, and that's not all. After I have taken my food out of the cube, it turns into a handy chair, or a table"

"It sounds amazing, Charles. I wish I could somehow get one of those."

"You know what, Helen, now you can, for just $99.99 you can order one for yourself, and that's not all, when you order now, you get not one, but TWO Aperture Science Sentry Turrets."

"Really? I get a cube like this _and _two turrets to keep it or something else I value this much safe?"

"Not so fast, Helen, I haven't even told you about the numerous other uses for Aperture Science Weigh-"

Wheatley turned off the TV, somehow even more discouraged than when he found the door locked.

"Aperture Science Extended Relaxation Center would like to remind you that for optimal result the testing candidates should lay on the bed provided when put in suspension. The effects of not being on the bed when relaxed include, but are not limited to, sore muscles, broken bones, brain damage, pneumoconiosis-"

"Yes, yes, fine, I'll lay on the bed."

And he did, laying on his back on top the covers, deciding to play along, but not fall asleep.

When his head hit the bed, he was already unconscious.

* * *

><p>The deck of the ship shook, the boat rocking. Wheatley almost fell down, his feet slipping on the wet deck. He got hold of one of the ropes and used it to pull himself back up. The life-boats, where were they? Was he supposed to yell something about women and children first? He didn't think the ship had any children at least, so did this mean part-time employees like him were in the line to be saved next?<p>

He was pretty sure at least the captain was expected to go down with the ship, and he hoped it didn't include rest of the crew as well.

And then Captain Harris was there, looking at him with that way only he could. He was a small man, but despite this, somehow managed to look down on people much larger than him. And that particular look he was giving Wheatley right now was making the much taller man feel like he was back in elementary school and scolded by his teacher.

"Captain, I swear I don't know where that rock came from! I just-"

He was interrupted by another wave that almost threw him overboard.

He was really feeling seasick now, he should have known he wasn't cut out to sea.

And that buzzer was getting on his nerves.

And then it wasn't Captain Harris anymore that was infront of him, but a machine hanging from the ceiling.

But the voice it addressed him with belonged to a man:

"Good morning, you have been in suspension for -999999-"

Wheatley fell out of the bed.

Bewildered, he found himself in a small hotel room, not back on the ship.

A part of his brain was telling him it had been a dream, but if this was reality, why was the hotel room rocking like it was on sea?

He rose up, hanging on the closet-door for support. Still partly asleep, he mumbled:

"Starboard was left, right. I think. Why do they need their own words for left and right? That's just bloody pretentious, that's what it is..."

The announcer's voice cut off, and the room stopped moving with a metallic clank.

This was not a real hotel room, he was still trapped in the Aperture, he reminded himself. Although the room seemed gloomier and more worn down than he remembered. And how had it-

There was a knock on the door.

Wheatley froze.

Another series of knocks sounded through the door.

"Just a moment!"

He called out, trying to weigh out his possibilities. He had no weapon, even the Portal Device had been taken away from him. He could probably use the chair as a weapon. But what good it did against bullets, which so far had been the weapon of choice for the robots attempting to kill him? Those and neurotoxin, and if he was about to get gassed again there weren't many weapons that would help. Except maybe a fan. But there were none of those around.

Maybe he could hide under the bed, and pretend no-one was there. Except that he had already answered, so whoever was out there would find him eventually. So maybe hide, and then go for a surprise attack. No, he couldn't spring to action in time if he hid under there. Maybe the closet?

He was still going over his options, when the door opened.

"AAAH!"

With a scream, he took a step back, lifting the chair and holding it between himself and whoever it was coming after him.

Which turned out to be a white metal ball, slightly bigger than a human head, sliding along the rail on the ceiling.

It turned the light green optic on it on him, the white plates around it shifting.

So much like an eye, that was. He had the distinct impression he was being sized up.

Trying to look nonchalant, he put the chair down, not looking away from the thing.

And then it spoke:

"I have a proposition for you."

Wheatley blinked in surprise. The voice was definitely feminine, if a bit low, and had he not seen the metal ball in front of him, he would have sworn it belonged to a young woman. It was definitely less artificial in tone than the voice the murderous computer had used.

"Huh?" That was the only response that seemed appropriate.

It (or should he call it she?) continued:

"I have woken you up from cryogenic suspension, this place wouldn't have stayed online for much longer, as the power was running out, so you would have died. I'll show you the way out and help you, and you take me with you and help me access places without a management rail. You'll need me."

Well, this was new. A robot not intent on killing him, and in fact offering to help him out of there. Still, it was a robot, and there was something familiar about it that made him hesitate.

But in any case, that deal sounded good.

"Fine. Yes, deal. You help me, I help you, and we'll get out of here."

Without a reply, the robot turned on its rail and headed out of the door.

Carefully, Wheatley followed. He noted a certain odd stiffness in his muscles, and rolled his shoulders around a bit.

At least he didn't feel pain, exactly, just like his body was still partly asleep.

The door now hung open, the whole room in a slight angle.

Still busy with being concerned with the state of his health, he stepped out and nearly fell forward. Grabbing the doorway he realized that the room seemed to be hovering a few feet above the ground.

Jumping down, he turned back to see where the room was.

It seemed the "vault" he had been was something like a shipping container that now lay on top of rubble close to a collapsed wall of something that looked too much like those testing tracks for his liking.

Looking around, he could see at least dozen of similar containers stacked on top of each other, and from what he could see, they probably went on for much longer. A pit on the other side of the small ledge they were on seemed to go on forever, leaving the testing track the only possible direction to go.

"I couldn't get the container closer. You'll need to go on without me for now. Try to find an Aperture Handheld Portal Device. We'll need one to get you out of here."

He stared at the ball. Apparently it wasn't going to give him any more instructions.

Wheatley opened his mouth to ask any of the dozens of questions bothering him ("Who put me in there?" "How long have I been there?" "Who or what are you?" "Did someone shave my beard while I was unconscious?") but the words died in his throat when he realized why the robot had looked familiar.

It was similar, if not directly one of those balls attached to the mad computer. Three of which he had destroyed.

"Yes, getting right to it."

He turned away and made his way through the hole in the collapsed wall as fast as he could without looking too suspicious.

He wasn't sure if this was just another trick of the computer, but so far this seemed like the only way, apart from just sitting there staring at it, or jumping in the pit, and in fact he could think of several possibilities, but they were all vastly worse than this one.

So he walked towards the testing area.

The place looked like it had been out of commission for years, maybe decades. A great number of the panels were missing, there were holes on the ceiling, and plants growing everywhere. It looked so different from the sterile laboratory-like chambers he had been first imprisoned in.

And there was sunlight coming from above. He peered up, trying to see how far off the outside was. Too far to simply climb up, it seemed like he had to find another, less direct route.

"Hello, and again, welcome to the Aperture Science Enrichment Center."

It was the same cheerful male voice he had heard in the fake hotel room.

"We are currently experiencing technical difficulties due to circumstances of potentially apocalyptic significance beyond our control. However, thanks to Emergency Testing Protocols, testing can continue. These pre-recorded messages will provide instructional and motivational support, so that science can still be done, even in the event of-"

The voice cut off, and a portal appeared in front of him.

Reflexively, Wheatley jumped at the sight of orange-clad human, before realizing it was him, seen through the other portal.

He jumped through, finding himself in a small room with a big red button, and an all-too-familiar-looking cube.

"Cube-and-button-based testing is one of the cornerstones of modern science and remains a priority, even in a dire emergency. Please place the Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cube on the 1500 Megawatt Aperture Science Heavy Duty Super-Colliding Super Button."

Wheatley lifted the cube on the button. The numb feeling had mostly vanished, but moving the cube was still difficult. Or maybe he had gotten used to lifting them with the Portal gun. He was actually kinda missing it now, especially when facing these tests again, he was feeling vulnerable without it.

But the robot that had woken him up had told him to find one, right? Would these tests provide him with one at some point?

"Well done. If you are not an employee but a random person who has wandered in after the collapse of society, welcome. And no, I am not god. And no, you may not remove any of the Aperture Science Testing Equipment and take them to your primitive little village to be worshipped as physical manifestations of supernatural phenomena. To prevent this, there is a particle field on the door of every test chamber, vaporizing any unauthorized equipment such as Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cubes."

Emancipation Grill.

He hated those. There was no way he'd feel at ease going through anything that was specifically designed to vaporize objects.

Wheatley picked up a twig and poked the energy field.

It evaporated with a fizzle on contact.

Well that didn't help to put his mind at ease.

The door he had entered from had closed after him, and he _had _gone through several of these energy fields before...

Holding his breath, he stepped towards the field.

And stopped just before touching it.

_Maybe I should just find another way._

Slowly, he touched the grill with the tip of his boot. At least it didn't vaporize that.

He took a step back, closed his eyes, and walked forward.

And almost fell down when his foot met no ground. Startled, he opened his eyes, and got hold of the railing before falling on his face. He had walked through the field and to the small stairs after it. At least he seemed to be in one piece, no parts of his body or clothing destroyed.

Also, he was really happy no one was watching this.

"As your current testing environment is unsupervised, please write down your results. The data collected should include, at least, the time spend in every test chamber, steps taken, number of portals used, and any events deemed important enough variables, such as you damaging the testing equipment or being crushed to bits by falling space-debris."

Huh, almost like that pre-recorded message had read his mind. He was getting paranoid. That's what this place did to you.

Sighing, he stepped into the lift, not even remembering to fret over whether the old lift would be safe before it stopped and let him out.

"If humans have gone extinct, evolved into a new species, or become slaves for -GGZZZT- multi-dimensional energy- zzzzt"

The recording cut off.

"On your left."

He turned towards the voice, to see the now-familiar white ball with woman's voice, hanging from a railing on his right on the other side of the partly collapsed wall. He was relieved, a part of him had suspected he had been left alone again to solve a new collection of tests the computers here seemed so keen on.

"That is on your right. You are now looking on your right. Look on your left, there is a podium, which should have a portal device."

Wheatley turned around, towards the structure middle of the room. It looked familiar, he was pretty sure he had found his first Portal Gun on one.

This one seemed to be empty, though.

"I can't see it..."

He took a step closer.

And the floor under him crumbled.

He fell into water, panicking, certain he was drowning.

After some flailing, Wheatley managed to stand up, finding the water only rose up to his knees.

"I'm fine!"

With some bitterness, he added, craning his neck to see out of the hole he was in:

"Not like you asked!"

Was this what the robot had planned from the very start?

"Even if you were hurt, there would be nothing I could do. I'm of course happy to hear you are not damaged. Can you see the portal gun?"

"No! Just water. Shallow, smelly mud-water. Not the kind that kills you on contact, though. So that's a plus. But wait a moment, I'm in a corridor of some kind, I think I can see light. I'll just... follow it, okay? Since I don't think I can climb up the same way I dropped here."

There was no answer.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"I'll just... go then."

There was indeed light, and he found himself in a small room, the sunlight trickling from above.

And there, middle of the room, was a Portal Gun.

And the walls...

He stopped.

The five walls of the room were decorated with paintings, each wall depicting a scene.

Some of them were very familiar, there was definitely one with the insane computer, it killing the scientists, offering cake to someone-

His mouth dropped open.

_Is that supposed to be me?_

Who had made these pictures?

A human? This meant someone had been watching him. Had the same person dragged him to the fake hotel room?

Shaking his head, he walked to the Portal Gun, carefully lifting it.

He smiled. Never would he have believed to be _happy_ to be in possession of the thing. Unfortunately, his joy was short-lived.

The device only shot blue portals, and when it did, there was an odd whirring noise accompanying it, with an occasional spark.

A portal device capable of making just one portal was useless.

Or it would have been somewhere else. But this was Aperture.

When he shot a portal on the wall, a corresponding orange portal appeared on the ledge above him.

He remembered that something like that had happened in the first tests back then, when he had been in possession of a gun that shot just blue portals. On set places on the walls were spots that would make orange ones appear in response to his blue ones.

He felt a bit bad for ruining the art-work with his portal. It was very nice-looking mural (or were these kinds of things called frescoes?), even if he did look kinda lanky in it, and apparently the artist had been short on colours and had to use bright red for his hair so he looked like some of those weird anime-characters.

He shot another portal on a different place, one with no paintings, the first blue one disappeared.

At least the portals didn't seem ruin the paintings.

Feeling a bit better about his situation, he used the portals to get to the upper level and left the room, finding a lift and walking to it.

"If you are not a human, but a sentient animal, plant or fungus mutated by nuclear radiation, well done. You are the first of your species to provide important data for science. If you are a sentient machine, please contact the emergency computer systems to download all your knowledge to the main computer. If you are not sentient, please ignore this message."

He cringed at the automated voice.

It seemed like he was still in the tests. Great.

At least the tests were simple, and several of them seemed really familiar. He figured he had already gone through them the last time he was there.

But now the test-chambers had fallen in disrepair, and in one case he could simply climb up a pile of rubble, avoiding jumping in a pit and being flung through the air, which seemed to be the way it was supposed to be solved.

But he was glad to avoid testing those new boots he now had, and whether they would protect him the same way the springs had.

"We would also like to remind you that parts of the testing might require prolonged exposure to lethal military androids. If you are not a human, and in fact bullets will not be harmful to you because of properties such as bullet-proof skin or the ability to phase out of existence, please contact the personality constructs to replace the military androids with something more suitable for your needs."

To his relief, Wheatley found no sign of military androids, lethal or otherwise. Well, he wasn't about to complain.

"You made it."

He turned to see the metal ball on the railing above him.

Taking a bit offence on the remark, he huffed:

"Of course. Don't mind saying meself, but I'm bit of an expert on the field of button-based test-solving science... tests. Although I had solved some of those tests before, so I was sorta cheating. And-"

The AI interrupted him:

"Use a portal to get up here."

He did so, dropping next to it.

The robot was hanging from a metallic arm from a similar railing that had been in that fake hotel room.

"So, what now?" Wheatley asked.

She had promised to help him, after all.

Matter-of-factly, she said:

"It's possible that when I disengage from my management rail, I will die."

Wheatley nodded, frowning.

That didn't sound good.

Without a warning, she dropped down.

Surprised, Wheatley instinctively jumped back, letting the orb crash on the ground.

"What? You should have warned me you were going to do that! Count on three the next time, or something. Also, are you okay? I should have asked that first."

He rushed to the robot rolling on the ground, grabbing the two handles on her, and when there was no response, carefully lifted her.

"I am undamaged."

Was it just his imagination, or did the sphere sound shaken?

"In the future, I will be counting on three before doing anything that requires your assistance. You see that port there, on the wall?" She pointed with her optic on a part of the wall that slid off revealing a device of some sort. "Plug me in."

Wheatley approached the thing. It had a spherical indentation, something that seemed to be designed for the shape he was holding in his hands.

He could see some kind of a plug on it, and supposed that was what he should insert the device in.

He tried pushing the ball on it.

"No! Not that one. That's not it. My port is on the opposite side of my optic"

"Sorry. Tried the wrong hole. This one?"

"Yes. However, please remove your finger from there."

"Sorry"

"You could get a nasty electric shock, that's all. Could you plug me in now?"

"Yes, this one? Got it, I'll be plugging you in now- Ah!"

The device on the wall pulled her in grabbing the handles, almost snapping off his fingers in the process.

He looked at the ball that seemed to do something robot-ey with the device on the wall accompanied by some bleeping noises.

Two panels next to it slid out of the way, revealing a catwalk.

"I'll disengage myself now. Pick me up when I do, I can't move on my own without a rail. Do you want me to count to three before I do?"

"Well, that would help. Of course I could just grab you by the handles before you do, so you would just be already in my hands when you let go, so we could avoid... that dropping on the ground problem."

He took hold of the handles.

"Three, two, one"

She popped off, rolling out of the machine, to his hands.

"Let's go"

He nodded, stepping through the door in the panelling.

* * *

><p>Despite the disrepair of the place, the corridor they were travelling on seemed familiar to him. But it wasn't before he saw the huge structure hanging from above that Wheatley realized where they were going.<p>

He stopped.

The ball on his hands turned its eye on him.

Wheatley asked, even though he was fairly certain he knew the answer and didn't like it one bit:

"Where are we going?"

"We'll need to go through _Her_ chamber. It's the only way out."

"_Her_? Ominous. That wouldn't be- Idon'twanttogo."

"You know about her?"

"Well, I know about _a_ her, a giant robot that hung from the ceiling and-"

He stopped, not sure if he wanted the ball to know about everything that had happened. How another similar creature or a thing had tried to kill him, and how he had- What _had_ he done? Had he destroyed it?

"The Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System? GLaDOS?"

"Well, I didn't catch her name the last time I was here..."

"She is offline."

"You're sure? I mean, really,_ really_ sure?"

"Yes."

Well, she sounded certain.

Taking a deep breath, Wheatley continued moving again.

It wasn't just the thought of the giant robot that made him hesitate, even though it was a big part of it. A huge part of it, actually. But the corridor was in pretty bad condition, parts of the floor missing, opening to the great emptiness under them.

He slowly made his way forward, feeling every step before putting his weight on the foot. Slowly, they came closer and closer to the door he knew led to the huge dark chamber.

And then one of the panels under his foot gave away.

Panicking, he sprinted rest of the way, not stopping before reaching the door.

He turned to look back. It didn't seem like the corridor had collapsed, after all, just that part of the floor had sank.

Still, Wheatley did feel like he had just burned the bridge behind him.

Steadying himself, and after catching his breath he turned towards the door, and stepped through.

And there she was.

Laying in a puddle of rainwater, pieces of her sprawled around the chamber, which itself had been reclaimed by nature and filled with plants, sunlight trickling down from holes on the ceiling, the smell of mud and wet rotting vegetation hanging thick over it.

Holding his breath, Wheatley slowly tiptoed through the chamber, staying as far as he could from the mechanical monstrosity, in fear of waking it up.

The small robot on his arms seemed to understand, and silently pointed with her optic at the door on the other side of the chamber, right next to the incinerator he had used to destroy parts of the monster.

It wasn't until they reached the door and stepped in the shade of the corridor he could breath normally again.

But their journey came to another halt.

Part of the catwalk had collapsed, the only way forward being a drop where stairs had once been.

"Is this the only way down? And do we really have to go down?"

He really didn't feel like trying out his new boots in a situation like this.

"Yes."

"This is quite high up, though, Quite, _quite_ high. And it's dark and there are all kinds of broken sharp metal bits down there that could skewer me!"

"You are wearing long-fall boots. They will absorb the shock."

"Yes, point taken, but it doesn't protect me from the aforementioned sharp metalley bits that are just waiting to make a kebab out of me. Or does it?"

"I'd estimate that it's within the limits of acceptable risk."

"What? Acceptable for you, maybe. Listen, maybe I can use portals to get down there, or maybe do a practice jump in some other place so I can be sure these boots really work, or find a vine or something to use to descend..."

"You could shoot a portal down there, but since the device you are holding can only shoot single portals you would have to find an automated portal-generator, and go back-"

"Yes, I know!"

Going back, not only past _her_, but the corridor that was on the verge of collapse...

He knew he should take the safe option, or the safest possible one, anyway. It would be a shame to survive a dramatic battle (where he had been quite heroic, if he said so himself), just to die few minutes from freedom from falling on a pointy bit of metal or breaking his legs or hitting his head or something.

But unlike in that first chamber with the emancipation grill, he wasn't alone now.

And as much as he tried to convince himself that it wasn't any different from a regular home machinery, your microwave or dishwasher very rarely _looked_ at you, and he was finding it made all the difference. And that there was the nagging feeling that she was thinking he was a coward, when in fact he was just being reasonably cautious.

He jumped.

And landed with a metallic clank.

"Decided to jump anyway, no time like the present, right? Tremendous, got all my limbs intact where they should be, no sharp bits anywhere digging into my flesh, that I can see, no, I'm good!"

"The main breaker room is just ahead."

He stepped in, finding himself in a circular room that had walls filled with switches, going all the way up. He could see light up above. He felt like he was trapped in a well.

"We need to find one that says 'Escape Pod'."

The robot advised.

"It's kinda dark innit?"

Pushing all the buttons he had come across had served him well. So far none of them had opened bottomless pits under him, or made anything shoot at him. Quite the opposite, the results had always been quite helpful.

Figuring the same hold true for switches (or breakers) he pulled the closest one.

There was a metallic clonk and lights came on. Encouraged by a result, he pulled the one next to it.

The floor, which apparently was a platform, started to move up.

"What did you do?"

"I just- pulled this-"

"No time for this, plug me in."

Shocked at her tense tone he tumbled with the ball, managing with some difficulty to do it.

The platform accelerated, the light coming closer. But wasn't that good? They were trying to go up, right?

"What? What's going on?"

She didn't answer, her parts whirring, looking concentrated on some task. Instead, the announcer piped in:

"Emergency powerup initiated."

Okay, so that's all it was.

_Wait, what?_

The room the light was coming from, the room they were closing in...

It was the chamber where _she_ (GLaDOS?) lay.

The platform slowed down, rising just in front of her.

With horror, Wheatley could see the huge form twitch, shaking, and looking a lot like a prehistoric beast waking up.

He didn't stay and watch the show. Before the platform had even fully stopped, he had already scrambled out of it, towards the door they had entered from avoiding the debris and puddles the best he could.

_They._

Cursing under his breath, Wheatley turned around, making his way back, and pulled the little robot off the port. But before he could even get few feet away, he could to his horror feel a metallic grip on him, and despite his panicked protests, was lifted off the ground, and found himself on the eye-level (for the lack of a better term) of the huge robot.

"Oh, it's _you._"

"Hello!", Wheatley squeaked, his voice several octaves higher than normal.

He cleared his throat:

"We were just passing by, really sorry for waking you up, we'll be off, and let you get back to sleep- Ah!"

He yelped in surprise when the little metal ball was pulled from him by another claw.

Keeping her gaze on the human, GLaDOS went on almost conversationally:

"How have you been?"

Maybe it didn't remember everything that had happened.

"I have been really busy being dead. You know, since you _murdered me_."

Of course it did, since when had anything worked out for him?

"You? It was you..."

Without even looking at the smaller robot who had spoken quietly with disbelief in her voice, GLaDOS's claw tightened on the small metal hull crushing it. With a spark, the green light went out. Nonchalantly the giant monster threw it over somewhere Wheatley couldn't see, never turning her attention away from the human.

"But I think we can talk about this in a civilized manner. For science. You monster."

The robot reminded him somewhat of a human form hanging upside-down. Odd that he should notice something like that now.

The portal gun was taken from his hand. GLaDOS examined the device, turning it in her claw.

"What have you done to this? Almost broke it, should have known. In any case, better take it away, wouldn't want to... Put it to waste."

"No no nonono, can't we talk about this? No!"

The computer completely ignored his pleas, going on in a pleasant voice:

"We both did some things we are regretting. Me being too nice and selflessly helping you every part of the way, you breaking my facility, ripping me to pieces, throwing the pieces into the fire..."

She dangled him over the incinerator.

"Oh, sorry, you aren't actually regretting anything, are you?"

Wheatley could see the incinerator opening.

"But you will."

And then she let go.

With a scream, Wheatley fell in the incinerator.


	3. Turrets and Grudges

**FACT: No robots were harmed in the making of this story. However, two location scouts were maimed by turrets. Fortunately, those two scouts were human.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"AAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa-"<p>

Wheatley's lungs ran out of air, his scream turning into a wheeze before finally dying out.

He breathed in, preparing to continue, when he noticed he wasn't falling anymore. It was hot, though, but he didn't seem to be on fire, and that was definitely solid ground he felt under his feet...

"I honestly hope you got all of your screaming done. That almost broke my audio-systems."

He was alive? But he thought GLaDOS had decided to kill him. Not that he was upset at not being burnt alive, or melted, or whatever happened at people in incinerators. But it was nice to know where things were heading. He straightened out, taking in his surroundings.

There was a huge pit of fire and burning things middle of this huge room, but he was standing on a wide ledge filled with scrap metal, broken cubes and turrets.

There were several shafts on the ceiling, some depositing their load to the ledge, like him, some leading straight to the inferno raging below. At the moment he could see a group of turrets falling in, one still screaming.

The voice of the giant computer echoed in the room:

"Sometimes I wonder if the capability for audio communication is completely necessary for test-subjects."

"Test subjects?" That was him, right? So, on the positive side, it didn't sound like he was about to be killed off right away. On the other hand, though, there was the whole _test-_word.

Almost like she had guessed where his thoughts were heading, the computer said in a far too cheerful tone:

"Maybe we can try removing your vocal chords at some point. To see if it improves your performance."

"No! It definitely, certainly, would not! And I'm telling you why you should not. Remove my vocal chords. Because... Haven't you ever see professional athletes throw the javelin, or play tennis? Why do you suppose they grunt all the time? Improves performance on sport and also tests. Definitely, a science fact."

Ignoring him, she went on:

"But no reason to hurry. We have time to try out all of my ideas for testing. Well, some of them you can only try once..."

It seemed like it was getting hotter. Uncertainly, Wheatley took a step towards the pit. He could see a way out on the other side, but the walkway leading there was in bad condition and full of metal trash. Just as he moved forward, a pile of rubble fell where he had been a moment before, mostly made of broken turrets. Few were still active, one of them trying to focus it's laser on Wheatley, softly calling out to him, making the fire pit seem a bit more safe by comparison.

"Let me get that for you."

Robotic arms attached to the walls removed the obstruction ahead of him. Meanwhile, the vent he had been dropped from unloaded a new assortment of debris, filling the ledge he was standing on a bit more.

"There should be a way to the testing tracks up ahead. If you ran into any pieces of me that didn't completely get burned when _someone_ threw them down here, say hi from me."

So he was being coaxed forward.

"Did you know I have a sort of black-box quick-save feature? In the event of a catastrophic failure, the last two minutes of my life are preserved for analysis.

So I could, was forced, really, to relive you murdering me again and again. Forever. If someone did something like that to you, what would you do?"

Wheatley opened his mouth to tell her that he definitely would just forgive them and let the person go, but stopped just before saying anything, for once trying to weight out what response would earn him the least amount of suffering.

However, she didn't seem to expect any answer, and went on:

"Would you devote your whole existence to _revenge_? Would you spend your time coming up with different ways to make the life of the murderer an unending nightmare, piece by piece taking away everything they love and hold dear, making it certain they are aware of everything that's happening to them every step on the way? I guess you would."

She paused, presumably for effect. Or maybe she was expecting a denial. In any case, Wheatley decided silence might be the way to go just this once.

"But that's the difference between us. Well, that and 3784 other things, I can give you a list later. I'm devoted enough to science to put all that past us, and get back to testing. For the good of scientific progress."

Wheatley really didn't like this. He almost hoped she was openly hostile. At least then you knew what you faced. Of course he wasn't foolish enough to _actually _wish for being shot at and/or gassed slowly to death.

If it came to wishing, he might as well wish the robot changed her mind and let him go. Or that a group of super-intelligent monkeys that had taken over the planet while he was frozen broke in, saved him and made him the king of New America and revealed they had a stash of tea shipped from England since he could _really _use some and hadn't gotten any good tea for a while even before this whole kidnapping-for-science happened, since apparently getting good tea in this country was impossible.

He missed home.

But while Wheatley definitely wouldn't say no to a tea party thrown in his honour by super-apes, he wasn't going to get his hopes up. He would just take what he got and try to make the best of it.

Wheatley walked towards the only direction he could, glad to get away from the incinerator. He was being lead by the nose, every now and then metallic claws attached to the walls or the shifting panels clearing up the road ahead of him and in several cases blocking the way he had come from.

The industrial-like corridors had changed to dysfunctional test-chambers, and in some cases parts of them, the rooms broken into pieces, one of them looking like it had had half of it removed, the floor and walls just stopping like someone had sawed part of it off, leaving him a ledge to walk on and a great drop on the other side.

Eventually he came across a door similar to ones he had seen in the tests.

Wheatley walked through, only to find himself in a pitch-black room.

And then a red light appeared in front of him, accompanied with the all-too-familiar cute voice:

"There you are."

Wheatley turned to run, but the door had shut behind him.

Around him one by one red lights blinked to life, the laser-sights wandering across the room, more and more of them finding him and focusing on their human target.

Doing their best to focus on him, in any case. As soon as he had found the door locked, Wheatley had not stopped for a moment, deciding to try his best to at least make a difficult target.

The room was still dark, but the turret optics and their lasers did light up the room somewhat, and at least they made avoiding them easier. However, it was inevitable he would run into one, and when he did, both the turret and the human fell down, one with a horrified shriek, the other with "critical error!".

Wheatley fell on his stomach, disoriented, the wind knocked out of him.

He closed his eyes, certain that after acid pits, drops of several hundred feet, rockets, bouncing exploding energy balls, deep-freezing, neurotoxin and incinerators it would be _bullets _of all things, to finally dispose of him.

That didn't happen.

And actually, there had been a definite lack of gunshots all this time, now that he thought about it, instead of simply reacting with blind panic.

He opened his eyes to see that the lights had been turned on. Slowly he lifted his head, staring at the dozen turrets that stared right back.

The ones that were standing towards him, at any rate. The positioning of the turrets seemed haphazard, one even looking straight in a corner, every now and then sadly asking if there was anybody there.

But even the ones that had him on his sights had not shot. As he stared, one of them opened its sides revealing the machine guns, but after few empty clicks put them away again.

"Out of ammo. Sorry," it informed him.

"Oh, did you accidentally wander into the depository for turrets out of ammo and waiting for Redemption?"

The seemingly ever-present computer asked, opening one of the doors in the room.

"I would advice you to get away from there in case some of them happen to have some bullets left."

She didn't need to tell Wheatley twice.

He ran out of the room, although this time slowing down to look around before entering the next one. Whether this was the same door he had come from, he couldn't tell. The whole running around in the dark-business had left him disoriented, and in any case he had the feeling he had been made to walk in circles most of the time.

Not to mention that a few times he could have sworn that the room he had been in had moved while he was inside it.

Now he was in a short corridor leading to a lift and stepped in, hoping his faith in the lift wasn't misplaced. He could think of several ways riding in one could result in a gruesome death, even when crazy maniacal computers weren't involved.

So understandably he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being escorted to his execution. To think of it, he had already been thrown in front of a firing squad, hadn't he?

"Let's see, I'll find a test for you to solve. Ah, here, Thermal Discouragement Beams. By the way, this test is extremely difficult and dangerous. In fact it was removed from normal testing because of how excessively fatal it turned out to be."

The cheerful male voice announced:

"Truth enhancement function for the purpose of discouraging the test-subject is back online."

"Good, that's working again. You get to start testing while I'll go back to work getting everything back online."

The small test chamber was filled with mud and vegetation, just like the ones he had solved before, but some parts of the room were shifting, panels moving, revealing a contraption on the ceiling.

Once the movement stopped Wheatley carefully approached it, but jumped back when a red laser shot from it.

After he became convinced the laser was stationary, just pointing at the floor, and wouldn't come after him, Wheatley approached it again, this time even more carefully. An experiment involving some dead vegetation confirmed the beam of light was capable of setting things on fire on contact. Wheatley made a mental note, adding lasers on the list of things that could kill you in this place. Although he wasn't that good at keeping things in his mind, and he was hoping he had pen and some paper to write it down.

But basically assuming _everything _was out to kill him had served him well thus far.

He could see the exit on a shelf in front of him.

He jumped over the puddle (best to avoid contact with the water, just in case), but soon found, after managing to climb on the ledge with some difficulty, that the door stayed shut.

He turned around to survey the room from this vantage point for a way to open it.

The laser was looking a pretty significant, test-solving vice. The way it shot down from the ceiling to a portal-friendly surface, staying stationary, not seeking him out, was practically yelling "an important test-solving element" to his test-solving test-subject senses.

And there was a structure on the floor few feet away, similar to the receptacles he had been able to activate with the energy balls before, and with the telltale line connecting it to the door, hinting that if he should redirect the beam to the thing with portals...

But-

"I can't solve this without the Portal Gun!"

"Well done, it only took you 15 minutes 45 seconds to figure out something that would have been immediately clear to 99.78% of people."

"So you have given me a test I can't solve?"

Was he going to be imprisoned to an unsolvable test for the rest of his life? Compared to the possible punishments he had been dreading, it was rather on a dull side.

"Now why would I do something like that?"

"But I _can't _solve this! Didn't you just say that?"

Not that he was complaining, mind you. But if he could get to the next room at least he would have hope for slipping through some crack in or between the chambers.

No answer.

"Hello?"

He found it hard to believe this was it.

"Are you going to give me one, then?"

He was almost relieved to hear her voice again:

"So now you want one? I might consider equipping you with a Dual Portal Device..."

"Well then give me one! Do you want me to solve this bloody test or not?"

Wheatley was quickly becoming frustrated and more and more confused with this. Maybe the mental robot was short on a few files. Most likely the ones containing "common sense" and "the file that keeps evil robots from killing people".

"Is that how you are asking for a favor? No wonder you ended up a test subject."

"What?"

A favour? It wanted him to _ask nicely_?

"Could you give me a Portal Device?"

Nothing.

Worried she had picked up on the considerable amount of sarcasm in his voice, he reluctantly added:

"Please?"

"Congratulations."

With a sound of a party horn something soft fell on his head. Wheatley lifted his hand to brush the paper from his hair.

_Confetti?_

"You have mastered the art of asking nicely, one of the cornerstones of human interaction. Maybe if you were nicer to people more often you wouldn't have to murder them to get what you want."

A robotic claw holding a Portal Gun reached down from the hole in the panelling where the confetti had come from. Before she could change her mind, Wheatley reached for it, picking it up.

"Thanks."

He bit his lip a moment too late, the reflective response for being given something escaping his lips before he could help it.

"Of course, I'm just loaning the device to you. It's still property of Aperture Science. But then again, so are you."

Well, at least he had the Portal Gun back, fully functional. And the chambers were still looking old and worn, perhaps he could find a way to freedom through a hole in the wall in some of the upcoming tests.

Of course, he had escaped from the test-chambers once before, and that didn't yet mean he was on the clear. The facility was enormous, and finding a way out...

Well, it wasn't worth worrying about things he couldn't do anything about. His best bet was to keep his eyes open, solve these chambers as quickly as he could, try to find a hole to slip through and then run away avoiding the room with the main computer.

The next chamber had lasers too, but now that he was familiar with how they worked and equipped with the Portal Device, Wheatley was feeling much more confident, something GLaDOS seemed to do her best to remedy:

"This next test includes Thermal Discouragement Beam Redirection Cubes. I just finished building them when you had your little _adventure._ So you get to be the first test subject to try them out. Incidentally, there is a 2.45% chance the cube can't handle the beam and will blow up on your face. Good luck."

He approached the cube. It was the same size the more familiar storage cubes were, but unlike them had a large prism middle of it.

Carefully, he lifted the cube using the tractor beam, relieved when it responded with the same way the Storage Cubes did, mainly by not blowing up.

He threw the cube at the beam. Then walked at it, picked it up and tried again, this time a bit closer. The second throw carried to the beam, and it caught the laser, redirecting it.

With no explosion, fortunately.

Less fortunately, the whole redirection-functionality led to the cube redirecting the beam towards him, almost resulting in a one scorched test-subject.

He approached the cube and very carefully turned it so that the beam was directed at the receptacle, opening the door.

He walked at the exit, assuming the computer would take this time to go on about how slowly he solved the test or failed to be blown up in a satisfactory manner. Instead, she had something else to pester him about:

"Did you know that red-haired people are far more likely to engage in anti-social and violent behaviour such as murdering people who are only trying to help them?"

"Wot? You're lying."

He got confused at this approach. And just when he had been thinking of such a witty response ("Yeah? Well, I was doing _science _and science takes time sometimes") to any complaints about his speed in solving the test.

"It's true. They are also far more likely to deny anything is wrong with them and choose to live in denial. It's all based in scientific observations. Just look at the situation here: The number of ginger test subjects who have murdered helpless victims in cold blood: one. The number of non-ginger test subjects who have done the same: zero."

"You are just making stuff up."

Wheatley was sure there was something wrong with those statistics, but couldn't exactly pinpoint what. And in any case, the mental computer wasn't worth reasoning with.

* * *

><p>Upon entering the test-chamber Wheatley was greeted with an assortment of trash hurtling towards him. His first thought, naturally, was that this was another attempt at his life. But it seemed half-hearted, or just an attempt to startle him (which had worked, not that he wanted to give the computer any satisfaction, so he did his best to pretend that his jump back towards the lift had been a part of a warming up routine, jumping up and down a few times and stretching his legs).<p>

"Sorry, I'm still cleaning up the test-chambers. _By myself. _And I'm using the same tube-systems to transport all my smelly garbage. So you're bound to run into rest of it every now and then. Just try to avoid it."

Despite what GLaDOS had said, the rubbish wasn't actually smelly, it was mostly old electronics, some pieces of vegetation, but nothing that would assault his nose even to the extent the mud covering the weatherworn test-chambers had.

There was a broken turret, something resembling a football, and a radio.

"Don't play with the garbage. You don't have to test with the garbage."

Just to spite her, Wheatley picked up the radio and pushed the buttons but didn't get it to work.

After he didn't manage to get any music to test by, he turned to the other stuff, deciding to find some use to them, just to annoy his captor and in some way get back at her.

_So I don't have to test with them? What if I want to? _

Out loud, he said:

"Wow, you are throwing all this stuff away? Finder's keepers, then! If you don't need this stuff, I'm sure I can find something to do with them."

"I should have guessed. The garbage makes you feel right at home, doesn't it? Unfortunately, you can't carry any of your new friends away from this test chamber through the Emancipation Grill, so make the most of it. Maybe you could roll in it, or rub it all over you, so you could at least take the smell with you."

So he just had to find a use for the stuff in the chamber he was in.

Wheatley had, of course, when first stepping in the chamber, quickly scanned it for turrets or any immediate threat, but been distracted by the trash thrown at him, so now he went over it, taking in the elements of the test and what he would have to do to open the door.

Just in front of him, there was a button, and stepping at it, he confirmed it opened the door few feet in front of him. He just needed a cube to weigh it down. There was one on the ledge on the other side of the chamber, but by the looks of it, no immediate way to reach it. There were lasers around there as well, suggesting he should use them...

Bollocks to that.

He carried all the rubbish onto the button. It wasn't enough. Or it had been programmed to avoid the test subject just carrying a bunch of turrets or other testing equipment on it. So she had learned from his earlier test-solving solutions.

He was expecting the computer to say something sarcastic, but she stayed silent.

He stepped on the button, pushing some of the rubbish off.

The door opened.

Wheatley stepped down from the button, dashing towards the door, but he hadn't taken even one step towards it before it shut again.

If he could find a way to be in two places at once...

Another him to stand on the button, and another to walk through the door. But then the first him would be left in the chamber. Unless the other him (he decided to call him Wheatley No. 2) who had stepped through the door could keep the door open for Wheatley No. 1...

He had just one of him, but he did have the broken turret and the radio and other stuff. If he was a mechanical genius, he could build a robot out of it to help him. If he had the tools.

And, well, while his employer at the electronics-store had told him (when firing him) that he had amazing talents relating to machines, mostly getting them to do things they were never designed for and that no one wanted them to do, he was no mechanical wizard.

Wheatley kicked the white football-like ball towards the door. It rolled through the doorway and stopped.

He smiled at the idea that gave him and picked up the broken turret.

And threw it at the exit.

The machine landed in front of the door.

He picked up a metallic frame from his pile of trash and flung it at the turret, making it slide just a little bit towards the door.

By using rest of the trash he managed to push and poke the turret onto the doorway, and after it was halfway out of the room, he stepped out of the button.

Without the pressure on the button, the door shut, and with a clank the turret was lodged between the door and the frame, leaving it open slightly.

But Wheatley, being rather slim, managed to wriggle through the small opening.

"Remember when I mentioned I transport all my garbage in the tube-system? I also included you in this and so indirectly called you garbage. You didn't react at the time, so I was worried that it sailed right over your head. But I thought you would feel better, since I can tell abandoning your trash-friends was emotionally distressing, knowing that in a way, wherever you go, you always have some garbage with you."

But despite being called rubbish (twice) his mood was lightened.

He prepared to walk to the lift, but found the catwalk leading there broken, leaving a huge hole in the floor.

Deciding this was his chance to escape, he dropped down to the corridor below and broke into a run, determined to get as far away as he could before she noticed he was gone.

He was in a space that looked like it was meant for maintenance back when there were still humans running the place, chairs and other abandoned office supplies lying around.

The corridor led to a huge industrial hall. He could see assembly lines on both sides, transporting panels, cutting them down, picking them up and taking them somewhere. There was an army of robotic arms building...

Something _around _him.

The floor he had thought stationary shot up, panels everywhere coming together making up the chamber around him.

A _test_-chamber.

"Oh, you are already here. You must really love testing to hurry here instead of going to take the rest in the break room I arranged the elevator to take you to."

Since the camera on the wall was the closest thing to the computer he could get to at the moment, Wheatley shot it down with a portal, kicked it on the laser beam and swore to do the same to the robot once he _did _get away.

Then he lifted the Prism Cube and started redirecting the laser to solve the test.

* * *

><p>"Glasses make you look stupid. On other people they made them look smart, but you just look stupid. That's not me talking, by the way. In your file here a scientist has noted that on you, they just make you look stupid. Wait a moment, it seems I have misread. It says that glasses make people look smarter, also in your case, it's just that your intelligence is so abysmally low to begin with, even glasses don't make you look even average."<p>

When the human didn't answer, she went on, talking more slowly:

"To put it in a way you can understand, you are a moron."

"I am NOT a moron!"

Regretting letting her get to him, he continued:

"I've been solving your tests, haven't I? Could a _moron_ do that?"

"Stumbling your way through these extremely easy tests can hardly be called a sign of great intelligence.

Even still, science needs all kinds of test subjects, and for example your aerial performance has been _most _enlightening."

Wheatley flinched at the memory of the first test with the Faith plates. He hadn't expected being launched in the air, holding onto the Portal Device for dear life. Unfortunately, he had not held on his glasses, and had lost them somehow during his flight.

And ended up crawling on all fours around the chamber, feeling the floor with his hands, trying to locate his glasses, while GLaDOS made insightful comments (You were flying like a bird, a headless chicken, to be exact)

And all of the test chambers since then had had those plates. Of all of GLaDOS's toys, Wheatley hated those things the most. Those and the lasers. And the turrets. And the floor that killed you. Now that he thought about it, making a list of things he _didn't_ hate in these tests was a much easier task.

* * *

><p>The doors of the lift opened, letting the test-subject out. He was just about to head to the test-chamber proper, when a voice stopped him.<p>

"You didn't use it."

Wheatley turned around, trying to locate the source of the sound.

"Use what?"

He noticed the familiar green optic peering behind a dislodged panel, the robot travelling on a rail in the narrow space between the walls.

"Hey, you're okay. How are you okay? I thought I saw her crush you, really good to see you, though."

"I... I'm okay."

She sounded taken a back, but soon recovered, and continued with her normal matter-of-factly tone:

"We don't have much time, and it's not important. And you already should know I survived. What I want to know is why you didn't follow the plan."

"We had a plan? Apart from the one that included getting out of here in an escape pod and that kinda backfired, unfortunately. I haven't been following any plan here, apart from the basic one that includes trying to avoid dying, or any bodily harm, really. And in case of finding an opening, fleeing as fast as I could."

"Haven't you been reading my messages?"

"What messages?"

"The ones I left on the signs you get on every test chamber. The ones with the number of the chamber on it and information about the possible hazards?"

"I don't read those!"

"You... don't? Why? Although that explains why you didn't get the Aperture Science Handheld Portal Device Portal Response Modulator."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter now. You already passed the chamber in question."

"I'm just curious, as to what the plan would have been. Mostly, if it had been any good. Since if it wasn't, missing it wouldn't be such a big deal and might even be a good thing. Not that I'm saying a plan you would come up with would be a bad one, although I don't really know you and your record of plans isn't too good since the last one wasn't exactly successful and in fact resulted in a complete opposite of a success, what with waking her up and all, which actually wasn't totally your fault, now that I think about it."

"I managed to hide the Modulator inside the Storage Cube in Chamber 10. The-"

"The chamber with the sodding aerial plates _on the walls_? The one where I was bounced around the place like a bloody ping pong ball?"

"I think that is the one, yes, although I don't really have much data on ping-pong. In any case, I left you instructions on how to attach the modulator on your Portal Device. Had you used it, you would have been able to create a portal that corresponded to a specific Automatic Portal Generator on the other part of the facility and escape through it."

"Blimey, that sounds like a good plan, actually. You should have told me about it. I know you tried, so I guess we are both at fault here. Do you have any other plans to get me out of here?"

The voice rang over the speaker system, reminding them of just where they were:

"Are you making friends with the elevator now? If you are lonely and looking for someone mentally equal to talk to, I can send some turrets there to keep you company."

"I'll have to go. Just act like you never saw me, and keep going through these tests. I'll get back to you."

And with that, she was gone.

Wheatley hurried into the chamber, hoping GLaDOS wouldn't suspect anything. Thankfully, she seemed more interested in showing off new test-components than interrogating the human on his tardiness:

"These bridges are made of natural light that I pump down from the surface. Warm, gentle sunlight. Although, given your pasty complexion, you'd burn in a minute and get some kind of horrible skin-disease, so you should be thanking me for keeping you here, away from it."

"Don't be stupid, you can't make a bridge out of light!"

He blurted the first thing that came to his mind, nervous that GLaDOS would notice something odd in his behaviour. In actuality, something like this wouldn't really surprise him at this point.

_Bridges made from light? Ridiculous! Now let me get back to carrying cubes on buttons using a gun that shoots magic doorways so an insane computer with a woman's voice doesn't gas me to death._

He climbed on the shining blue bridge. It seemed solid enough, even making a somewhat metallic clank when his boots hit it.

He jumped up and down few times on the bridge, and yelled:

"See? Not something I could do with light, or anything made from light, it's not like light is water, liquid like a... water, that you can freeze, and then you have ice that you can walk on..."

_Also turrets, can't forget those! I would like to meet the person who decided to give them that voice. Scratch that, staying far away from people like that would have kept me away from here in the first place._

"Your behaviour is peculiar, even for an insane murderer such as you. Maybe I need to re-adjust the amount of adrenaline vapour in your oxygen supply. You do know what I'm talking about, right? Do you even have any idea how much trouble I go to fulfil your needs, such as breathing? I'm guessing you haven't even thought about that. No, you just stumble around, using oxygen and producing carbon dioxide, just taking all my hard work for granted. It's not like on the surface where air is just readily available, I need to recycle the air you use, take off the carbon dioxide, freshen it up, and pump back in for you to use again. It's one of those things you just aren't going to appreciate before it's gone, I guess..."

Something between a gasp and a nervous giggle escaped Wheatley.

Deciding he needed to get her (as well as his) mind off such topics as oxygen and suffocation, he shot a portal on a random spot on the wall, and started solving the test.

However, the feeling that she could decide to just kill him off any minute was difficult to shake. But there was a question he hadn't found an answer to, although whenever it came up, he did his best to ignore it in fear of what answers he would come up with.

_Why hasn't she killed me yet?_

* * *

><p>GLaDOS turned her attention to the camera-feed from the next test-chamber, awaiting her test-subject's arrival. He was between chambers, so she had still some time to interact with him according the test protocols. Not that she couldn't break that rule if she wanted, but they were doing science here, and at least one of them could stay professional.<p>

She turned on the speakers in the room as he entered the chamber:

"How are you feeling, by the way? Most test-subjects experience some loss of muscle mass during cryogenic sleep, and it seems to me you're even skinnier, if that's even possible, than before."

She turned off the audio- feed to avoid hearing his protests, she would listen it later, of course, and go through all his reactions in fine detail, but right now she had a lot to think about, and didn't feel like humoring him by replying to his babbling.

She couldn't believe this _moron _had been the one to defeat her.

Not a scientist, not an engineer, not even a full-time employee.

Part of her, a big part, in fact, wanted to just smash him to bits, or fill the test-chamber with turrets and no portal surfaces, or just drop the elevator he was in to the incinerator or use the old trusty deadly neurotoxin.

But on the other hand...

She needed him. Thanks to the state of her facility all of the test subjects stored in the relaxation vaults were dead.

And although she hated to admit it, when watching him stumble his way through the tests, there was some of that old satisfaction she hadn't gotten from testing for such a long time.

And it bothered her.

Sure, he solved the tests, but most of the time, he did it all wrong, and causing damage to her facility, which definitely was NOT a good thing.

So why wasn't her reaction completely negative?

She focused her attention on the cameras in the chamber.

The test subject had found his way to the Cube Dispenser, and was now lifting the Aperture Science Weighted Storage Cube in order to carry it on the button.

Or trying to lift it.

GLaDOS used the communication system to provide him with appropriate commentary:

"Having trouble? I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Of course she shouldn't. She had calibrated the Cube Dispenser on purpose to dispense cubes 100 times heavier than the standard ones.

She fizzled the cube out of existence, and continued:

"Not everyone spends all their time in the gym, I realize that. Admirable, really, how you don't seem to care about your looks at all. Here, try this one."

Of course, he couldn't lift this one either. Even with the Aperture Science Gravity Weakening Tractor Beam, lifting something this heavy was impossible for a human.

"Oh, dear. I better give you one of the cubes used in the test courses meant for little children."

She dropped one of the normal cubes for him.

"By the way, it's really nice to see a human male not obsessed with physical fitness."

She watched her test subject kick the wall in frustration, resulting in one of the panels coming loose and almost falling on him. Despite her efforts, the test chambers were still not up to standard. A test subject, even as violent as this one, should not be able to damage the walls this easily.

As she watched him drag the panel across the chamber to a place where he could use it to get a portal where he wasn't meant to, and completely skip a part of the test, it hit her.

He quite often managed to surprise her. Even if his reactions at times were extremely predictable, as she had learned from insulting his intelligence, the human regularly came up with solutions no other test subject ever had.

And a part of her had come to enjoy it.

This was not good.

Unpredictability was something that led to data points all over the place without any noticeable trend, and in rare cases, being blown up by a moron.

And as much as she enjoyed tormenting him to collect data for science, she could not risk him causing any more damage to the facility. Or even her.

There had to be a solution to this.

She should attempt to find a way to test without humans. Devoting a bulk of her processing power on coming up with a solution, she told him after the test, almost absent-mindedly:

"Oh, according to your results, your performance in this test was average. You've been improving- wait, I was accidentally using the grading system for little girls. Let me see how your score compares to other adult males... You got the worst score ever. Yes, that's much more in line with your past performance."

* * *

><p>Wheatley stepped in the next test chamber. Ever since he had met with the small robot again he had dutifully checked every sign on the entrance of every test chamber, but had not found any messages or signs from his ally.<p>

He hoped she hadn't just given up on him. He'd probably have to come up with a plan of some kind on his own, just in case. Too bad he was rather low on ideas at the moment. And every test-chamber looked tidier and cleaner than the last, so his hope for escaping through a hole in the panelling overlooked by his captor was getting slimmer and slimmer every minute.

He was just pondering at what point he would be desperate enough to consider throwing the portal gun in a laser-beam and hoping it would create a magic black hole leading out of there, when a comment from GLaDOS shook him out of his reverie.

"I was going through the frozen test subjects, and made a discovery I think you'll find interesting. How common a last name is Wheatley, do you think?"

Wheatley bit his lip, deciding not to reward her with an answer. He had decided to try silent treatment. She wanted silent test subjects? Well, let's see how she liked it.

Nonplussed, the computer continued after the test (really surprising how those light-bridges would react to being directed to the deadly liquid, he would have to remember that)

"You are never going to believe who is here with me. Maybe, if you solve the next test in a satisfactory manner, I'll let her talk to you..."

Wheatley wondered if keeping quiet would make the computer get bored with him. In any case, he was sure his feelings were obvious, he had never been any good at hiding his emotions, something he considered his greatest flaw. That and his rotten luck.

The next test chamber was a lot smaller than any of the previous ones. But it proved to be much more challenging. There were three lasers, and three receptacles where he knew he'd have to direct the beams to in order to open the door.

But there wasn't enough prism cubes he could use to get the beams where he wanted to. He tried using the portals to redirect them, but that still left one unlit.

It became obvious to him; this was an impossible test. The crazy computer had given him an unsolvable puzzle.

"Now who's a moron? You've made a mistake, this test is impossible, and broken."

No answer.

Maybe she _had_ finally gotten bored with him and decided to leave him to starve to death as an experiment.

"I give up, hear me? I've had enough of your bloody tests, even if I solve this, you're just going to stick me into another flipping button-pushing test-chamber-thing."

The little voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the situation he was in, and how making the insane AI that held him on her mercy even more angry was not a good idea. But he ignored the voice, as he was in the habit of doing. Wheatley was hungry, and tired, and his head hurt and he really needed to use the bathroom but even if he came across one, how was he supposed to do his business while she was_ watching_, and he was just so fed up with all of this!

"I'm sick and tired of being bossed around by you! I've had enough of this! And you know what else I'm tired of! Eh?"

"I'm tired of you acting like the victim here._ You _tried to kill _me_ first. On several occasions! It was self-defence! And you got better." He stopped, rather anticlimactically, unable to put into words just how unfair all of this was.

Frustrated, he lifted one of the cubes and flung it at the door, as hard as he could. It bounced right back, and almost hit him on the head.

"Aperture Science Enrichment Center would like to inform you that the test-chamber doors have been refitted to withstand forces up to 500 kilo Newton to avoid damage to the equipment and to force the test-subjects to follow the proper test solving guidelines. Also, your mother never loved you."

So the computer had been probably watching him all the time. Probably laughing at herself, enjoying seeing him almost barbecue himself on several occasions.

The anger gave him new strength and resolve. Just one more try, this time he would think it through very carefully. He lifted the prism cube, catching the closest beam with it.

_Now then, let's see._

He turned towards the door.

BBZZZT!

He jumped back, dropping the cube, leaving the beam free to get to him. Quarter of an inch to the left, and it would have burned more than just his jumpsuit. Still, he had achieved a result of some kind.

It seemed GLaDOS hadn't thought of making the doors laser-proof.

Pleased with himself, he stepped through, carefully avoiding the shower of sparks coming from the doorframe. But his good mood soon disappeared, when he heard the voice again:

"Incredible. You continue to find new ways to be a complete failure. Your parents must be really proud. Wait a second, we can find out right now."

He stepped in the lift, doing his best to ignore the voice, making a show of peeling back his burned jumpsuit, revealing the white T-shirt with an Aperture logo underneath. He tied the sleeves around his waist, hoping they wouldn't get caught in anything.

"Ah, it seems she doesn't want to talk to you. Since you are a disappointment to her and your entire family. That's sad. But don't worry, I'm sure she will change her mind eventually. And I will certainly be doing my best to bring your family back together."

She sounded happy.

Cold shivers ran on Wheatley's back as the lift started to move, but his thoughts were interrupted by the curious behaviour of the lift.

Instead of smoothly slowing down it started to slightly shake, screeching noises accompanying this, before it came to a jerking halt.

Wheatley couldn't see anything but dark on the other side of the glass doors.

Then they opened, revealing a dimly lit corridor that looked like it was meant for maintenance, a catwalk crossing through diagonally from where he was looking. It didn't look like the lift was supposed to stop there.

"Quickly, come, before the elevator starts moving again."

Like on cue, he could feel the lift start moving slowly, and jumped out. The lift continued up without its passenger, the doors still open and an occasional spark flying from where the capsule-like frame met the tube.

Wheatley climbed on the catwalk, making his way towards the now-familiar green light.

"Where are we?"

"I redirected the elevator here, to the maintenance shaft. But we are still close to where it was supposed to take you, and have to get as far as here as possible before she notices you are gone."

The voice of GLaDOS ran through, muffled, but still far too close for Wheatley's comfort.

"What are you doing in there? You are aware it's an elevator, right? If you are doing any of your disgusting human business in there-"

The voice faded as they hurried, the human walking briskly, not risking to run in the dim light, and the AI speeding on one of the black railings criss-crossing through the corridor. In several places they took most of the space, so he had to ran hunched and once almost crawl.

Several smaller ways parted from the big one they were travelling, maintenance rails branching there, most likely leading to other parts of the facility.

And then the whole structure shook.

"She has noticed you are gone."

Her voice was serious and calm, with no sign of the panic he felt.

Wheatley broke into run, not caring if he risked tripping over something in the dark.

Behind him, he could hear a loud crash, and as he run, he felt like the corridor itself was tilting, and when it shook with a sudden jolt he realised this was indeed the case. But even more alarmingly, he could see a wall closing on himself on both sides.

"Run!"

He didn't need to be reminded of that, but he was a bit confused as to where exactly he _could _run to. Unable to see the little robot anywhere, he headed towards the light and found himself in a bigger space.

But in a space that was gradually getting smaller.

With a crash, the walls crushed the tube structure he had been in between them, the screech of bending metal deafening to his ears.

"Get on the elevator!"

For a moment, he couldn't see it, automatically looking for a lift similar to those that had transported him from one test-chamber to the next.

Noticing the brown industrial-looking lift that was more likely meant for transporting tools and machinery than humans, he got in. With disbelief, he watched from the rising lift the walkway he had been on mere seconds before get bent out of shape and crushed as the walls came together.

GLaDOS had tried to crush him between two test-chambers.

If she could move huge parts of the place like that...

Could she still get to him?

The lift stopped, and he stepped out, trying to get his bearings. He'd have to stay on the move. He hoped she thought he had perished in that attempt, or that at least she would be slowed down by the destruction she has caused and it would take time for her to get him back in her sights.

But this looked like the part of the plan where he ran away as fast as he could without looking back.

Once he found his companion, that is.

Relieved, he could see the little robot speeding towards him on a rail, seemingly unharmed.

Wheatley waived at her, beckoning her closer.

Then the lights went out leaving them in the dark.


	4. Cores and Sabotage

**Fact: Any rumors about this story being on hiatus for so long because the author was kidnapped by robots and being forced to test for science for the last 14 months are largely exaggerated.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Wheatley tensed.<p>

He opened his mouth to call for his companion, but realised he didn't know her name. Or even if she had one. So instead he resorted to "Hello?" in that peculiar cross of a shout and whisper people tend to use when trying to get the attention of someone without actually being heard.

Without warning the darkness exploded in a bloom of light, leaving him as blind as he had been in the darkness.

"Sorry, I'll adjust the light."

Wheatley rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the dancing spots assaulting his vision, and little by little, he could see the outlines of his environment.

He realised the robot who was hanging a feet above him was the source of the light, her eye shining bright, illuminating their surroundings.

"You have a flashlight? That's handy."

"We should get moving."

"Do you know how to get out of here?"

"Yes."

She turned, sliding away on the metal track she was hanging from. Wheatley decided the 'follow me' was implied and did so. She really wasn't one for small talk, was she? But there was something he needed to find out, and quick.

"Listen, there were people working here once, right? Human people? That would mean they'd have their facilities, the break rooms and such."

"Yes, but I wouldn't think that would take priority-"

"Trust me, it does."

Her gaze lingered on him giving him the feeling he was being sized up. But it didn't take her long to turn again and continue moving in another direction.

"Follow me."

* * *

><p>Wheatley was starting to wonder if his guide was just leading him around in circles when she stopped, pointing to a door with her light.<p>

Carefully, Wheatley opened it, but when nothing more threatening than a whiff of stale air assaulted him, he stepped in and found himself in a small room with a couch, some chairs piled on top of each other in a corner, and a small kitchenette.

And more importantly, a door with a sign "toilet".

He stopped and turned towards the ball that was following him to the room.

"Listen, this is the kind of thing that's, well, private, so..."

She stared right back, apparently not taking the hint.

"So... I can't do my business here if you are watching." He clarified.

She backed out of the toilet, and he closed the door after her.

Which caused a new problem.

"Uh, hello?" He opened the door. "It's pitch black in there. I just can't manage without the light. Could you... Close your eyes. Eye, that is. Or whatever it is that you use to look around."

"If I close my shutters, I can't point the light." The ball pointed out. "However, the problem here is that you don't want me to see what you do, correct? I could simply shut down my visual systems for the moment."

"You are doing it now?"

"Yes."

Wheatley stared at the ball and its unblinking 'eye'. He couldn't see any difference compared to how it had looked before. "I-I don't think I can. It's not that It's- You are kinda still staring, even if you don't see- it's a human thing, we need privacy for this kind of thing."

They resolved to have her point the light at the floor just outside the loo and have Wheatley use the reflected light.

After doing his business (in record time), the human stepped out and closed the door behind him.

"You can look now." He turned his attention towards the rest of the room and pointed at the kitchenette. "Can you give me light here?"

He opened the fridge, and closed it almost immediately. It had been taken over by a greenish blue mould, and it might have been just a trick of the light, but he could have sworn it had moved.

In any case, he decided to leave it alone.

A cupboard over the sink, on the other hand, proved to be a veritable treasure-trove.

Canned beans, canned tuna, canned tomato soup, canned something blue with Aperture logo on it (he wasn't about to touch that one)...

"Give me a minute, okay?"

He had to fight to swallow the cold beans, but he was so hungry he didn't care.

"We are going to get out of here, yea? As soon as I've had something to eat."

"Yes, but there's one thing I need to tell you."

Wheatley looked up from his dinner.

What she said next surprised him:

"She doesn't really have your mother."

"I know." The AI must had heard GLaDOS' taunts directed at him.

"My mother is dead," he clarified. "So she can't be here. Unless GLaDOS has found a way to reanimate the dead, which I wouldn't actually put past her, but me mum is buried in England, and I kinda doubt she could..."

He trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable with the subject.

"I'm sorry."

That surprised him. He reminded himself it was probably just a programmed response, but she had really sounded apologetic. It was just an AI, but still... GLaDOS was one, and even if she was murderous and utterly bonkers, she still seemed more like a person than a machine.

He studied the pale-green light that he thought of as her eye, trying to make eye contact, hoping that was the right thing to do. From what he recalled, you should never stare at an AI directly in the eye. Or was it wolves?

He flashed a small smile at her. "Don't worry, it's okay. I mean, it's been several years, since she died, at least for me, I guess there has been a LOT of years since then, for her, even though she's dead. You get my point."

"I am not certain I do. Do you mean you have forgotten her?"

"No." Wheatley wondered how he had got himself into a discussion like this. He really wasn't qualified to explain humanity and death to a computer. He tried to remember how it has been handled in those 'very special episodes' on telly.

"It's just that life goes on, you're sad for a while, and then it's less and less every day, you know? Well, you're a robot, so I guess you don't know. But it's just that you have to move on. You meet new people and new things happen to you."

He wanted to change the subject. Well, talking of meeting new people...

"What's your name?"

The metal ball blinked at the question. Wheatley was uncertain if the movements of the plates on its "face" could be interpreted the same way human expressions could, but that had seemed like surprise.

"My designation is Computerized Hacking Enabled Lifeless Lifeform."

"Woah, that's a mouthful. Designated computer hacking life-"

"Computerized Hacking Enabled Lifeless Lifeform."

"Um, yea, it's not that it's not a _pretty _name, but it is kinda long. Do you have a nickname?"

"A nickname?"

"Like, what friends call you."

"Friends? I think… CHELL would be appropriate."

"Brilliant, Chell it is!" He held out his hand to her, realised she didn't have hand, or anything else to shake, and turned the movement into a little wave. "My name is Stephen Wheatley. Friends call me Stephen, or just Steve."

"Very well. Mr Wheatley, if you have finished your business here, we should get going before she finds a way to get to us."

She turned around, and zoomed off along the rail.

Dejected, he walked after her.

"'Mister' isn't really necessary."

"My apologies. Wheatley, we really need to go now. I have a plan for taking her down, but I'm going to need your help to get access to areas without a management rail."

"Of course."

This really wasn't the time for this, their lives were still in danger.

"Wheatley."

He stopped, shielding his eyes when she turned her eye (and so the light) on him.

"We will defeat her."

When she said it like that, sounding so certain, Wheatley felt that maybe it was really possible. He had done it once before, after all, all by himself.

With the two of them, they could destroy her defences, take care of her, and leave this bloody place.

He nodded:

"Yes, we will."

* * *

><p>CHELL wheeled along the management rail, every now and then turning to confirm that the human (Wheatley, she corrected) was still following her.<p>

She had never been the most social of personality constructs, not that she didn't get along with the others, if there was a need (apart from the Anger Core, but no-one got along with Anger Core), but for the most part she had always preferred to have little contact with the others.

So after GLaDOS had been defeated, when _Wheatley_ had defeated her, and the remaining cores had taken over the functions keeping the facility in some kind of working order, she had asked for the job of taking care of the test subjects, something no-one else had wanted to do. She had liked it there. She had very little interaction with those humans, but that was the way she preferred it.

And even when she had tended to them, they had usually been unconscious.

This one... was different.

For one, he talked much more than any she had ever seen, quite often stumbling over his words, repeating things or accentuating his speech with hand-gestures.

And most of his remarks seemed pointless to her. ("Oh, look at those lights!" "It's a long way down, isn't it? I really shouldn't have looked down, AH! Did it again!" "The electricity bill for this place must be huge!"), and for a lot of time she was unsure if he was even expecting an answer, so she only spoke when he asked a direct question.

Then again, she recalled from data, humans were social creatures, and speech was by its very nature social activity, so it was no wonder test subjects on their own wouldn't do much of it.

She accessed her databanks of human behavior, hoping to gain some insight on the matter.

"Humans (_Homo sapiens_) are social creatures that require interaction with others of the same species. A prolonged lack of a healthy social environment can contribute toward, or be the result of, many emotional, behavioral and physical disorders including anxiety, panic attacks, eating disorders, addictions, substance abuse, violence and overall disease."

She stopped, surveying the human, trying to spot any possible signs of any of those. Of course she didn't have that much of an idea of what normal human behavior included. For one, was bending double-over and panting heavily a sign of a problem of some kind? It seemed like he couldn't speak properly, which was definitely troubling. Was this a result of talking too much?

She did a quick search on her databanks on this, but it wasn't on her medical database she found a match.

It was a file titled "top 25 human qualities that prove robots are better than humans."

Number 6: "Humans will get out of breath when engaging in physically exerting activities."

Right between "The tendency to form patriarchal societies and wage war based on ideological differences", and "Smelly feet".

Ah, she had been going too fast. Humans needed rest every now and then.

"Do you need to take a break?"

He nodded breathlessly, and sat on the catwalk, leaning against the wall.

Humans and their needs were more complicated than she had ever known. Sure, she had knowledge on the regulations for minimal requirements in storing the test subjects in the relaxation vaults, but surely all he had been doing meant there were additional needs? And she couldn't even provide him with everything the vault had.

She went through the list in her mind.

He was getting enough physical exercise, she was sure, maybe too much. It seemed he was able to find the facilities needed for waste disposal and had found sustenance, although she had no idea how much energy he would need, or if he could get all the nutrients human body needed from them. That all seemed very complicated. But she was fairly certain he would be entirely capable of taking care of that himself. Although, she reminded herself, humans were not solitary creatures, and in their natural environment would live in small groups. So maybe they couldn't take care of their metabolism without the proper social environment.

Again, she worried about his mental well-being. In the vaults the test subjects had been provided with intellectual sustenance in the form of paintings and classical music.

Where could she get something like that for him?

She had no music or literature that could be classified as art stored in her memory.

If she could tap into the main databanks of the facility via wireless connection, she could download some, but that was out of the question.

_She_ would be able to locate her if CHELL tried anything like that.

Apparently he had gotten his ability to speak back.

"Do you know, are there any other people around? Humans, I mean. What happened to all the others that were frozen?"

Of course he would prefer the company of humans. It was understandable, a biological need encoded in his very DNA. Less understandable was the disdain she felt for the question. Deciding to ignore it for now, she filed it away for later introspection.

"They are dead."

She studied his reaction. Widening of eyes, small contraction of pupils, mouth opening slightly to make a small noise she identified as a gasp. Surprise, maybe horror, she decided.

"How? Did she kill them all?"

Again, she felt hesitation.

She didn't really like the subject. What if he would blame her?

She decided to tell him the truth. In the first place, deception was something that didn't come easily for her programming, and if he found out later what had happened, it would be even worse.

"After She, after_ GLaDOS, _was taken down, the safety mechanisms in the main reactor initiated a shutdown. The facility does have emergency reactors for such a situation, but they were never designed to hold on for so long without maintenance, not to mention without the main computer, a lot of the functions were unusable. Part by part, the Relaxation Center went offline, and stopped waking up the test subjects and maintaining the stasis, and eventually they... died."

She glanced at Wheatley. He looked serious, but not angry, at least not yet. So she went on:

"I tried to fix it, but I lacked the programming for such work, and didn't have the materials or tools."

CHELL hesitated. When it had become obvious the Relaxation Center was going off-line, she had tried waking up test subjects. It had not gone well.

For some reason she didn't want to tell him about the others. She reasoned it was because she didn't want to make him think she had failed and cause distrust in her abilities that might prove fatal in the situation they were in.

And it wasn't like it was important, it could easily go unmentioned.

"I was certain there were no test subjects- humans, alive. But when I went through the Relaxation Chambers manually, I found one that was hooked on the main emergency generator and not showing up on the database. Your chamber. And I decided to help at least one human away..."

"You're coming with me, right?"

"You don't think I should stay here?"

That was surprising. She had fully expected him to think she belonged to Aperture, where she had been built and were meant for. After all, the scientists and engineers who had made her had been human, so she had assumed this human would have the same priorities they had.

But Wheatley appeared to have a different view on things. "Why would I?_ I _don't want to. So I don't see any reason for you to. I mean, if you want to, stay here that is, fine, as long as you help me out first, but of course I would prefer getting out of here together."

"I will get out of here."

She announced defiantly, searching for his face for any sign of negative response. She found none, and in fact, he smiled at the idea, and seemed delighted.

It was an odd thing, she thought. She had assumed he would have been annoyed or maybe angry at her for wanting to abandon her designated task.

Maybe after they got out of there, she could stay with him.

That was a weird thought.

But it was a logical one. She would require help, at least at first, just to get around in the outside world.

And he had come from outside, he would know about it, but since everyone he had known had died he would require companionship at least until he re-established his social connections.

It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.

* * *

><p>"The door... It's manually locked. I can't hack it."<p>

"This door?" Wheatley pointed to the door with a window.

She nodded.

He smiled. "I reckon I can do something about this. Make meself useful for a change."

"You can unlock it?"

"Yea, a regular Master of unlocking, that's me. That was a joke, by the way, I guess you wouldn't know, but there was this old video-game with really bad voice acting, and with that line, I guess you'd have to play it yourself, trust me, it was hilarious. Right, the door, just wait a sec…"

He looked around the room, which was furnished like an office, with computer, cabinets and chairs. He walked to them, CHELL sliding after him, curious:

"What? What are you doing with that chair?"

She watched him walk to the door carrying the chair and lift it, turn his face away, and bring the chair down on the window, breaking it.

She blinked.  
>"Oh, well, that worked. Crude, but it worked."<p>

Carefully, he unlocked the door reaching through the window:

"Ta-daa! Open."

"Yes. It is."

"Um, what are we doing here?"

"GLaDOS has two main defense-systems: Her turrets, and the neurotoxin. For us to have any hope when confronting her, we have to first sabotage those."

"Co-confronting her?"

"Yes."

"Not that it doesn't sound all very heroic and stuff, but why won't we just silently sneak quietly out of the back door? Cowardice is totally underappreciated, you know."

"To get to the main entrance, we would have to go through her chamber. It's the only part of the facility she can't move and so block the exit. There might be a way out through the bottom of the facility, but I don't know how far it even goes."

"Wouldn't it be safer, though?"

"Most likely not."

"Erm, I guess I trust your judgement. So, what are we doing here? Destroy the place?"

"Yes. Or perhaps our sabotage could be subtler?"

"Like how? By just wrecking a part of it?"

"Maybe. Although I was thinking more along the lines of replacing the template with a defective one."

"This one?" Wheatley lifted the turret from the pedestal.

"Template missing. Continuing from memory." The computer announced.

"Yes, now we need to sabotage it. There should be tools in that compartment."

"Star shaped bolts? Never seen those."

"Any facility can use the normal bolts. But here in Aperture Science we are not followers, but leaders, who will take new, fresh viewpoints and think outside the box, unlike Black Mesa."

"Who's Black Mesa?"

"I don't know. All I know that according to the database they are 'cheating jerkfaces'. Once you're out, you should probably try to avoid them."

"Sure." Wheatley stared at the turret's insides behind the back panel. Deciding to apply the knowledge of machines he had acquired over the years, he jammed the screwdriver into an important-looking part and was showered in sparks. "AAH! I'm okay, though!"

"Ah, good idea, taking advantage of the weakness of the power-coupling transistors in the flux capacitor." CHELL observed. "That was always considered a weakness in this model."

"Yeah, figured so."

* * *

><p>GLaDOS went through the video-feeds of surveillance cameras from everywhere from the facility. No sign of her test-subject.<p>

She was still uncertain how he had escaped.

It must have been luck, a hitch in the elevator system. She had ran a full diagnostic, and she couldn't see any way even for his violent behavior and habit of ruining any piece of technologically advanced equipment he came in contact with could have caused the elevator to end up in the wrong chamber.

Had it been luck?

She was trying to calculate what he would do.

Try to escape? Get to her and murder her? Find the turret manufacturing facility so he could kill as many defenseless robots as possible?

But if that was what she was expecting, it probably wasn't what he was planning to do...

Thinking about it made her feel worse. And now that she had no test subjects, she was unable to test, and the hardwired need for it was hampering her ability to think...

Yes, getting the co-operative bots ready and that project running would have to be a priority.

He would turn up, and maybe it was even better not to press the issue.

A rat was most dangerous when driven into a corner, after all.

She focused on putting the final touches on the two robots.

Once she got them to test, she could devote her full attention to her little pest-problem.

Maybe she could even use these two to solve that issue. She had become aware of just how limited her reach was in some parts of the facility, it would be useful to have robots that could move freely on her disposal.

* * *

><p>"That's our handiwork, right?" Wheatley pointed at the non-defective turrets falling to the incinerator after failing to match the broken template.<p>

"Almost makes you feel sorry for them. Of course just _almost_, they're just robots, after all-"

He stopped, realising who he was talking to. He hurried to continue:

"I mean, nothing wrong with being a robot, really. I'll tell you, robots, love them! Their way of working with electricity instead of food, very practical, and-"

He tried to think of a quality shared by the robots here that didn't include murder.

"And their sphericalness, very nice. Uh... And it's not like the turrets are the same thing you are, right? I mean, do you feel pain? Cos, if you do I feel even worse for not catching you back then when you dropped from your railing, not that I don't feel pretty terrible about it right now!"

He stopped, trying to recall what his point had been to begin with.

"I can feel pain."

"Oh."

Wheatley glanced around the office-like area she was leading him through, trying to find some source of conversation.

"Ah, um, hey, potato batteries! We made one once back in school! Do you know how that works? It's really weird."

"A potato battery is an electrochemical battery, otherwise known as an electrochemical cell. An electrochemical cell is a cell in which chemical energy is converted to electric energy by a spontaneous electron transfer. In the case of the potato, the zinc in the nail reacts with the copper wire. Since the potato keeps them apart, the electron transfer has to take place over the copper wires of the circuit, which channels the energy into the light or other device."

"Well, it does. But still, really fun. But that, though," he pointed at another project, "dangerous. I don't know how they let little kids play with something like that. I can tell you from experience, the baking soda volcanoes are just disasters waiting to happen, ready to spew their acidic contents all over the- OUH!"

He had, due to the limited light and his lack of attention to his surroundings, hit his head to a panel hanging from the ceiling.

"Do you need art?"

She sounded worried. Not that the words made much sense. Deciding to just ignore it as a robot-thing, he shook his head, cringing at the pain. "Not really, no."

"The room neurotoxin is produced and stored in is close. Are you well enough to keep walking?"

"Yea. Wait a second, they keep the neurotoxin right next to the childcare? I'm pretty sure that's against some kind of law. I mean, I got fired from my job at the kindergarten for less than that. Mustard isn't even poisonous, even if you get _covered_ in it!"

"There are safeguards in place. Even if a child happened to wander out of the designated child-care area and get past the several locked doors, the neurotoxin canisters clearly read 'Not suitable for children under 18'"

"Ah, okay then. But if the place is so well protected, how are _we _going to get in?"

"I can open the computerized locks, and you are capable of getting past the defences I can do nothing about. We will be fine."

She demonstrated this by unlocking the door, and letting them in to the neurotoxin production room.

"Blimey, that's big," Wheatley pointed at the huge container of neurotoxin middle of the chamber. "I guess she must need a lot of it, after all, this place is huge. So, what are we going to do about it?"

"I'll hack into the computer systems to close them down. Just a moment."

The rings surrounding her eyes started spinning in a way Wheatley supposed signified hacking."There's a small problem," she informed him.

"What!?"

"I can close down the system, but I can't be certain she won't notice it immediately and override my commands. I need to find another way around this."

Wheatley left her to work on it, and wandered around the room, feeling useless.

Chell only noticed what he was up to when there was a huge crash.

"I didn't mean to!" Wheatley yelled. "There was this big red button, and I just-"

"That's ingenious!" The robot exclaimed. "Physical damage will be much more difficult for her to fix! You're great at sabotage!"

"So I have been told. Usually not in such a positive way, though."

"Keep at it!"

Few more button-presses later all of the tubes leading to the big container were severed. It was only at this point that Wheatley thought of the repercussions of letting the deadly gas in the room he was currently in.

But he didn't have much time to worry about that, seeing how the huge container was being crushed by the air-pressure and it seemed like the whole room was following its example.

"Wheatley!"

He turned to see his companion ball being sucked towards the broken tube, getting ripped from the railing by the air-current.

Wheatley grabbed her from the handles. But the current of air was far more powerful than he thought, and with a yelp, Wheatley was dragged in with her.

"Well, that was unexpected. Still, this should take us directly to her. Although I was planning to get us some weaponry before confronting her."

Wheatley hadn't thought that far. But now that they were going to her so fast, too fast in fact, he realised that he hadn't thought of what they would do when they actually faced the computer.

His companion didn't seem too worried:

"But who needs that? You have arms and legs! Just kick her! And punch! We can do this!"

Wheatley would have voiced his concerns, but before he could, their journey came to a quick halt, the floor suddenly under his feet. Disoriented, still gripping CHELL, Wheatley stood up, head spinning.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"So that was your plan? Barge in my chamber and make a horrible mess?"

Wheatley instinctively froze, hoping against all hope it wasn't him she was talking to, maybe, just maybe, she was monologuing to herself, and when he _slowly _lifted his head he _wouldn't _be facing the beast...

No such luck.

"Don't worry. You achieved your objective, if it makes you feel any better, I'm sure it will take me days to get all the blood off."

He could see several turrets lowered around him.

"Are you sure about this?", he whispered to the core he was holding.

One of the turrets exploded. And it didn't seem like the others were working either, their guns emptily clicking.

"Go!"

She whispered.

"Go for the optic!"

Wheatley picked up one of the turrets and threw it at GLaDOS.

She effortlessly avoided it.

"See? No turrets! And no neurotoxin either. So your best bet is just to let us go, really. Or we will, kick you! A lot. Or actually you're kinda hanging too high for that, but I can still punch you! But you should really let us go, I'll explain why, in fact, we didn't just sabotage the neurotoxin and turrets, no. We put a bomb, a computer bomb in your main shaft-computer-thing, I'm a bit vague on the details, but the point is, if you don't let us go right now, it will blow up!"

"When did you prepare something like that?" CHELL asked, surprised.

"Sssh! I'm trying to trick her!"

"I see."

"As amusing as collecting data on human/computer synchronized idiocy is," GLaDOS interrupted, "I'd appreciate it if you just died now."

"No!" The small ball sounded defiant.

"Yeah, what are you gonna do?" Wheatley wished his voice could have sounded a bit less shaky.

"Nothing." GLaDOS answered.

"Huh?"

"We are just going to sit here. And eventually you will die of carbon dioxide poisoning, seeing how I don't feel like keeping the air conditioning on. Or maybe I manage to repair the turrets or the neurotoxin before that, and solve this little issue that way. I think it would take a long time for you to produce enough carbon dioxide to kill yourself in a room this big, but we can make a scientific experiment out of it. Sounds fun, doesn't it?"

Before Wheatley could figure the best way to express what was in his mind, ("AAAAA! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!") in a way that could possibly lead to not dying in some horrible way, a disembodied voice ran through the room:

"Warning: Central core is eighty percent corrupt."

"Just ignore that." GLaDOS advised.

"Alternate core detected."

Confused, Wheatley turned to the ball in his hands for explanation, in hopes it didn't mean death and pain.

"It must mean me." Her voice was thoughtful.

"So?" Wheatley prompted. "What does it mean? What can we do?"

"Don't even think about it." GLaDOS said.

"But we are thinking about it!" The smaller robot announced.

"Um, I'm not thinking about it." Wheatley corrected. "At least I don't think so. What is it we are thinking about?"

"GLaDOS is in charge of the facility because she, or rather her personality core, is connected to the main computer body. But the core can be changed and replaced with another."

Wheatley was starting to catch on. "You mean we can take her out and put you in?"

She moved her optic up and down in a way he had come to interpret as a nod.

A smile spread on his face

"Brilliant. What do you want me to do?"

"It's fine. Just ignore me and my opinion. I'm used to it." The voice of the huge robot was mockingly weary. "Of course a psychopath such as yourself would jump at the opportunity to add 'Grand theft robot-body' to your CV alongside of 'Premeditated murder', 'Destruction of property', and 'Lowering the average IQ of any human group you happen to wander into'."

"Put me in there, that port you see over there." CHELL instructed her companion. "Yes, that one. The same way you did once before, remember? Watch your fingers."

The cheerful computer voice, that Wheatley supposed was the voice of systems not under GLaDOS's control, inquired: "Replacement Core, are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Corrupted Core, are you ready?"

"No. No, no nonono no." The panic in her voice gave Wheatley hope. This might actually work.

"Stalemate detected."

"It seems we are going with my plan of seeing how long it takes for a human to suffocate, after all." But GLaDOS's relief was premature.

"Stalemate Resolution Associate: Please press the Stalemate Resolution Button."

"That's you, Wheatley! Press the button!"

A button? He could see a button in a corner, similar to the ones in the tests.

"Oh, no, you don't."

A floor-panel rose, pushing him away from the button.

"Hm, I wonder if I can improvise?" GLaDOS mused.

Wheatley jumped out of the way, just in time to avoid being caught in a mechanic claw rising from the floor.

"Come on, don't be foolish." Her tone of voice was frustrated. "You will die, it's a certainty. Here's a little scientific fact for you: Dying by carbon dioxide poisoning is _extremely _painful. Chosen as the 'Worst way to die' at least twenty times by the International Euthanasia Enthusiast Association."

Wheatley did his best to ignore the thoughts of suffocating, and attempted to use as little oxygen as possible while running around the room, dodging the plates that lazily moved, trying to catch him.

"But you know what way to die is easy? Your skull being crushed by a giant claw. You know who also died that way? Elizabeth the First. True story. Your _Queen. _In fact, in Elizabethan England it was considered an honor to die by having your skull crushed by a giant claw."

Wheatley had finally figured out how to avoid the panels, and got to the button, pushing it, before she could get to him.

The effect was immediate. The panels stopped moving, and the claw went limp, falling on the floor.

"Nooooo-"

Wheatley flinched at the mechanized scream. Had it been GLaDOS? Or Chell? Was she okay?

The panels that had hidden the exchange process from him receded, and he could see the giant robot body.

And in there, replacing the head-piece now laying on the floor, was the little metal ball.

Carefully, Wheatley took a step closer the giant robot body that moved a bit uncertainly.

"Chell?"

She opened her eye. "Yes. Just give me a minute… To get used to this."

"Can we get away from here? No offense, but this place is creeping me out a bit."

"I understand. Let me get an elevator for you. We can use it to escape this place."

Wheatley stepped in the lift that rose slowly to the height of where Chell now hung.

Wheatley smiled encouragingly:

"It's okay, I'll be ready to catch you this time. Although it would help if you reached out to me so I could take hold of you first, and then you could de-attach yourself. Could you do that?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned around.

"Do we have to leave right now?"


End file.
